


Like Pristine Glass

by BookWorm77071



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Feyre sends Nesta to Illyria, Multi, and SURPRISE she got pregnant with triplets, and SURPRISE she runs away, and SURPRISE she slept with Cassian before she did, and lives with them in Faerie Stars Hollow, but that is subject to change, currently not enough angst to warrant a trigger warning, showers exist!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2020-08-10 19:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 88,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20140639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookWorm77071/pseuds/BookWorm77071
Summary: Five years ago, Nesta was exiled by her sister to Illyria. Four years ago, she disappeared. Three years ago, she stopped sending letters. And now she's turned up in a small country across the sea, with three small children in tow. But Nesta's not looking for the Inner Circle anymore, and she's not happy to find them on her doorstep.But Cassian's lost her too many times to do so again, and this time, he has more at stake than ever before, if those three Illyrian-winged children have got anything to do with it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! So, I'm very excited to finally post this. I've been working on it for such a long time! It'll be told in three time setting, and this chapter has two of them.  
I hope you enjoy!

October 12 - 4 years after

It seems autumn has surrendered early to winter this year. The first cool drizzle had arrived in early September and the sun had immediately fled behind a cover of clouds and had not been seen since.

The unseasonable heavy rain has robbed Velaris’ people of their last few weeks enjoying the outdoors but Elain does not mind so much, as Feyre’s riverfront home has a beautiful dining room with a carved table she had helped picked out, and she is so excited to see her friends--now more like family--all gathered together, she does not care where the meeting commences.

“Oh, am I here before Feyre?” Mor says brightly from behind her. “Excellent. I thought I’d have to make up some excuse for being late.”

“What were you thinking of?” Elain asks her, turning around to greet her with a kiss on her cheek.

“Caught in the storm, or something? I don’t know.”

“That’s not very creative,” Cassian says, coming into the dining room with Amren behind him. “And the least you could’ve done was let yourself get wet. Try and sell it. Hello, Elain.”

A flurry of  _ hello _ s and  _ I’ve missed you _ s and  _ hadn’t realized how long it’s been _ s, combined with hugs, followed, and within fifteen minutes, they are only waiting for one of their Circle to arrive.

Elain sits down near the head of the table, eyes fixed down, able to see the doorway in her periphery. Perfectly prepared, if anyone were to walk in... she hopes no one notices the faint blush she can feel growing on her cheeks--ah, but they are arguing about the food.

“It’s only Az,” Cassian is saying, “I don’t see why we can’t at least have some wine.”

“We’re waiting,” Feyre says firmly. “We don’t start dinner until everyone’s here.”

“Get over yourself, Cass,” Mor says, cutting him off. “He’ll be here soon.”

“ _ You _ started drinking before you got here.”

“I did not. Is Varian coming to the High Summit in November, Amren?”

“Oh, no,” Feyre says, before Amren got a chance to reply. “No High Summit discussions. No work-related topics.”

Cassian whistles low and ran a hand through his hair. “You two have an unfair advantage.” He jerks his chin towards Feyre and Rhys, arms entwined together. “You have non-work-related topics going on.”

“Oh, please. Speak for yourself,” Mor says. “You’re the only one without a life.”

“Twice as much as you.”

“Mmm, not even close.”

“Pathetic,” Cassian says, shaking his head. “She courts one female, loses her mind. Does Emerie know you’ve lost your mind, Mor?”

“Emerie’s at perfect peace with my--”

“Oh, thank the Mother, that’ll be Az,” interrupts Feyre. “Now we can eat. Maybe Cassian’ll shut up when we put food in his mouth."

“If you wanted me to shut up, you could’ve put food in my mouth ten minutes ago,” Cassian says. “Hey, Az, tell us, what’s your brilliant excuse for showing up late? Caught in the rain? See, Mor, at least he got himself wet.”

Elain looks up, desperate to keep her thoughts off her face, normally so hard to do whenever he walks into a room.

But one look at Azriel, still wet from the rain, sends everything but dread clear out of her. His expression is sombre, and his eyes sorrowful. He looks at her and Feyre and Cassian.

She knows what’s coming.

“No,” she tries to say, but can’t make any sound come out. Mor, from across the table, reaches out to squeeze her hand, but she yanks it back towards herself.

“I’ve found her,” Az says, and his voice sounds lower than usual.

Elain can’t move, can’t look at Feyre, can’t  _ see _ \--

Cassian shakes the table as he stands up, faster than Elain has ever seen him move. Simply sitting one moment, then standing the next. “Where is she,” he says, pain laced in his voice.

“She’s dead,” Amren says flatly to her left, and all the air leaves the room and everything vanishes from inside and around Elain, leaving a living void, pulsing and sucking out the life and light of everything, gone gone gone--

“She’s  _ not _ ,” Azriel says. And he says something else after that, but Elain can’t hear, too focused on the rush of blood in her ears, on  _ she’s not she’s not she’s not she’s  _ not, to pay to attention.

“Oh,” she says aloud. “Oh.”

Feyre pushes out of Rhysand’s embrace--had he pulled her into his lap? Elain didn’t notice--and sits beside her. She puts an arm around her. “She’s alive,” she whispers in her ear. “And Az has found her.”

Mor makes room for Azriel and he sits down, folding in his wings as he does so. He pulls out what looked like a small crystal ball--one she recognizes. From before, when they were human, Nesta at her side... and six mortal queens opposite. The Veritas. An orb with the power to show anything a previous holder had seen.

They all lean in. Elain can imagine Cassian and Feyre’s pain mirrors her own, but she feels something quite suddenly she doesn’t expect to: envy. Who has seen Nesta? Who, when she has not, she who has the power to gaze across the world, across time, who has looked so hard for her sister... who has seen her?

Pale clouds swirl inside the Veritas, the same she had seen a lifetime ago, with weaker eyes, and this time, instead of a city from above, appears a figure. A female’s figure, wearing a hooded cloak, and holding a large bundle. 

The image isn’t quite clear; whoever had held the Veritas and spotted Nesta had done so from a distance.

The female in the scene turns, holding up an arm, and waves, like she is calling someone over.

“It doesn’t look like her,” Mor whispers, and Amren shushed her.

“It’s her posture,” Feyre says. “That’s her walk.”

The female puts down the bundle, but instead of staying in its place, it... moves. Waddles. Closer to the female... hugging her legs.

Feyre sucks in a breath.

“Is that a  _ child _ ?” Rhysand asks, entirely incredulous.

Elain’s eyes dare to flicker away from the Veritas, to Cassian, just for a moment. Fear and shock are on his face.

The female bends down and picks up the child again as she waves the person she had called before into the scene. Two someones.

Two more children.

“Maybe she’s helping out a friend,” Amren says, her voice low. “With their children.”

“I still don’t think it looks like her.”

“Watch,” Azriel says. She feels his eyes on her as he says, “I wouldn’t have brought this if I hadn’t made certain it was her.”

And sure enough, a moment later, the female puts the first child down. She tugs on one of the other two’s cloak, fixing it around the toddler’s chin. As she does, her own hood falls back.

Revealing her elder sister’s perfect face.

Feyre gasps, and someone else does, and Amren snarls and Cassian says her name, aloud, the first time she has heard it in four years: “ _ Nesta _ .”

He says it just once, but it’s so heavy, his voice rasp with four years worth of pain and longing and everything, just everything, because Nesta is everything to Cassian, is she not?

Just as she is everything to Elain.

Because the bond they had was not the same as the bond she has with Feyre. She doesn’t love either more, but she loves them differently. And Cassian... Cassian feels now what she’s feeling. This she knows.

So this time, when Mor and Feyre reach over to comfort her, she pushes them both aside, and moves to sit by Cassian.

“She’s all right,” she says to him, her voice low. “And now we know where she is.”

He looks down at her, finally tearing his gaze away from the orb on the table, which still shows Nesta and the three children walking along.

“I know,” she says to him softly.

He looks back at the table, at Nesta.

“Where is she, Azriel?” Rhys asks. He’s running a hand up and down Feyre’s back. Elain can tell he’s already planning who to send, how to get her back. For Feyre.

“Gilameyva,” he says, and Elain has never heard of it, but the others clearly have.

“ _ Gilameya _ ?” Cassian and Amren say.

“The berry lands?” Mor asks.

“Sugar Valley,” Azriel continues. “One of the berry-townships, yes.”

“What’s a berry-township?” Elain asks, watching her sister--her sister--herd the three children along a pavement. In Gilameyva, apparently. “And where’s Gilameyva?”

“Just across the sea,” Cassian says, struggling to keep his voice even. “Ships dock from Gilameyva in Illyria once every two months. And vice-versa.”

“And she’s been there four years?”

“Whose are the kids?”

“How’d you find her?”

“Gilameyva is not like a Court of Prythian,” Azriel says, ignoring them all and addressing her. “It’s self-governed by councils in each of their cities and towns. The council’s are elected and there isn’t a High Lord or a ruler’s assets and there isn’t a tithe. They sell berries.”

“Berries?”

“Each township has their own speciality. Nesta’s in Sugar Valley. They specialize in sugarberries.”

“You expect me to believe Nesta Archeron has spent the last four years picking sugarberries in Gilameyva?” Amren says with vitriol, before Elain has a chance to respond.

But Azriel does not answer in kind, and says calmly, “She has not been picking berries. I have reason to believe she works at a bookstore.”

A bookstore.

They have been worried out of their minds, every second for four years, and she has been at a bookstore.

“What about the children?” Cassian says.

“Watch,” Azriel says, and he sounds a bit more gentle. It’s the tone he normally takes with her.

Nesta and the children have made it to a neighborhood, lined with tiny houses with red roofs. They’ve all got little gardens in front. Toys on some front lawns. 

Nesta and the three children stop in front of a blue two-story and walk up the pavement to a the white door. Just as they reach, one of the children--Elain thinks it’s a boy--turns away and runs towards a corner of the lawn. He grabs a toy Elain can’t quite make out.

And as he turns back to rejoin Nesta and the other two children, the observer, Azriel’s spy, moves bit closer and gets a perfect view of his back. And the child chooses right then to stretch... to stretch out....

To stretch out his black leather wings.

He flies, just a foot off the ground, to Nesta’s side.

They walk in the house together.

The Veritas fades.

“My source says no one left or entered the house again. They were gone at sunrise.”

“They can’t be hers.” Mor glances at Cassian as she speaks.

“We believe they are,” Azriel says. He looks straight at Elain, and then at Feyre. “They called her mother. Two boys and a girl.”

“So they are.” Feyre rubs her temples. “ Those are her children.” 

“What ages?” Cassian says. His voice is soft, nearly weak.

Azriel looks at him now, something akin to pity in his eyes. “We guess around three.”

Cassian rubs his neck and stands up.

“Well?” Elain says to him.

He looks down and slowly drags his gaze to her face.

“Yes,” he says.

Elain hears the self-loathing, knows he must be in pain, but the camaraderie she felt with him mere minutes ago is gone. Now all she can think of is her sister, her big sister, alone in a land she doesn’t know, pregnant in a body that she couldn’t call her own, with  _ triplets _ .

“What...have...we... _ done _ ,” she sobs. “Feyre,  _ what have we done _ ?”

“Elain,” Feyre says, standing up, and she’s crying too. “We’ll--we’ll go to her--I’m sorry--oh, Nesta--”

“It’s not your fault,” Rhysand mumbles against her hair, and that’s it for Elain.

“Oh, yes it is!” she says, nearly choking on her tears. “It most certainly is our fault!”

“I’m going to Gilameyva,” Cassian says, through gritted teeth.

Mor stands up. “Don’t, Cassian--wait a moment.”

“No,” he says, and nearly charges out the door.

“He’s distraught. He’ll kill himself like this. Az, let’s go after--”

“No!” Elain cries out. “He should go!”

Mor looks at her in surprise. Elain is not a voice of dissent, and she certainly never raises her tone. “Elain, please--”

“He should go, he should  _ have gone _ , he should have gone  _ years ago _ .  _ We _ should have gone years ago...when she sent those letters!”

“Elain,” Feyre says. But she doesn’t say anything else. Because there is nothing else to say.

Amren, still seated at the table, says softly, “You’re right.”

“Amren,” Rhysand says. “Elain, be reasonable, I know you’re upset. We’re all upset. None of us knew.”

“You’ve always hated her. From the second you saw her. You were glad she was gone. You were glad she stopped sending letters.”

Because she had sent letters. They had not been worried for four years. They had been worried for three.

“Elain, don’t blame Rhys,” Feyre says, wiping her eyes.

“I blame myself,” Elain says, voice shaking, “but I blame you, too. And I blame you more!”

“Elain,” Azriel says, his voice in her ear. She jumps a little. She hadn’t realized he was right behind her. “Sit down. Let’s get you some tea.”

“You all hated her,” Elain says, pushing him away. “And I loved her and I didn’t...” Elain can’t finish her sentence for her crying. “Oh, all the gods, I didn’t even read a letter, oh, I shouldn’t have let you send her to Illyria, I should’ve... I should have....”

“Sit down, Elain,” Azriel says again. “Cassian will be there by tomorrow morning. We’ll hear back from him soon. I’ll take you to meet her myself.”

His words are quiet, only for her. But she is too upset to stay and hear more, and makes her way out of the dining room, to her room.

Nesta’s perfect face appears in her mind’s eye. She looked well in the image, but all Elain can see is her frightened, alone, lost, desperately waiting for a reply that would never come.

She should have answered a letter. She shouldn’t have let Feyre send her to Illyria. And she shouldn’t have looked for her herself, when it became clear something was wrong.

She feels guilty, too guilty to breathe properly, because it’s suffocating her, oozing out, enveloping her body--

And perhaps some of it does ooze out, because she feels a cautious tug on her rib.

She gasps a little; she’ll never get used to that.

Her relationship with... her mate is not a romantic one, but it’s there. And so she sends a little tug back, to let him know not to worry.

And then throws up her shields, to let him know to stay out of it.

Cassian is on his way to Nesta now. But Elain needs to see her herself, to tell her she’s sorry, to offer help, to bring her back to Velaris--and then it hits her. The children.

Nesta is not pregnant and alone, because she has the children. Three half-Illyrian, half-whatever-Nesta-is children.

And are they what children are supposed to be? Are they a blessing? Are they the joy of her sister’s life? As she wonders, a tiny bud of hope blooms inside her.

Because if they are, perhaps Nesta is not so angry. And perhaps she will forgive her.

But whether or not she will, Elain knows she will never forgive herself for agreeing to Feyre’s plan years ago....

* * *

September 10 - Day of

She had not attended dinner the day before. Elain had thought it would be nice, just the three of them, saying goodbye to each other. Nesta had scoffed at that when she tentatively approached her in the sitting room, just after Feyre had finished delivering her judgment upon her. They were not saying goodbye to each other. They were exiling her. To a war camp, to hated mountains, with a male she could barely stand to look at.

“But if we won’t be seeing each other for a while...” Elain trailed off, one hand tugging on a lock of her gold-brown hair, color identical to Feyre’s. She did not finish her sentence at the look in Nesta’s eyes. 

_ And whose fault is that _ she couldn’t bring herself to say. Instead, she had turned on her heel and made her way back to her own apartment.

“She’ll come,” she heard Feyre tell Elain.

Well. She hadn’t.

She hadn’t done anything else, though, when she had arrived. Feyre’s words left an echo of pain inside her, a dulled sort of ache. She was mildly, almost distantly surprised she had felt anything at all; she was so used to numbing every emotion that flared inside her. She could still hear her sister’s voice in her head again and again.  _ I want you out of Velaris. _ Shaking, like she was nervous, or maybe even scared. 

What was she scared of? She was not being sent away. She was still in charge of her own fate.

She woke in her room, in her bed, but she did not remember when she fell asleep.

She was sitting on her couch, but she did not remember getting out of bed, getting dressed. She was trying to remember if she’d eaten when he knocked on the door.

The same way he had yesterday, hard enough to rattle the entire apartment. Nesta felt every cell in her body fighting against her as she moved to open it. She took a deep breath before she pulled the door open, blocking his entrance.

He had the same insufferable grin he always had on to greet her, but she was too hollow to feel proper anger, just...cold.

“Hungry?” he said, pushing her aside and making his way in. “We could stop for breakfast before we go.” Before she started her life in her baby sister’s exile. “Where are your bags?”

He looked around the living area, and then at her, as if expecting her to pull them out of thin air. She didn’t say anything.

“Right, I guess I’ll just go get them,” he said under his breath.

Nesta put a hand on her couch and gazed around the room as she heard Cassian pull a bag out from somewhere and stuff her clothes inside. Her apartment was small and the location was miserable and sparsely decorated was a generous description, but it was hers. Four locks, one that only she could open--safe. Dodgy neighbors, sure, but they couldn’t get in.

Her piles of books everywhere...Nesta would’ve liked shelves, perhaps a mahogany or rosewood or cedar. And...pictures. On the walls. Not of people, not like the portraits Feyre had everywhere, more like the still lives that once decorated their estate. And a piano.

Her apartment was far too small for a piano. She was being ridiculous, creating the illusion of happiness here, just to give herself something to miss in Illyria.

“All right, here’s the essentials,” Cassian said, coming out of her bedroom. She ignored him, taking a last look at her...home. Her place. Her own. Paid for by her sister’s mate, maybe, but as close to  _ hers  _ as anything could be.

“We’ll send for the rest later. Your books, and...whatever else.”

She brushed her hand over the cushions. She had never liked this pattern. Stripes. She’d have liked a couch with one solid color, maybe some throw pillows with swirling decals.

“And we can pick up anything you need in Illyria. There are some shops...we’ll be fine. It’ll just be a month or so. Till we get the rest of your things.”

And she hated the color, too. A dull cornflower and faded cream.

“So, shall we go to breakfast, then?”

Nesta lifted her head and looked at him. Not even glared, just bore her eyes into his. He shifted his gaze.

“Look, we aren’t winnowing. We’re flying. It’ll take a while. I think you should eat first.”

But still she did not answer. Did not trust herself to open her mouth, and could not find anything to say anyway.

“All right,” he said, giving in even though it didn’t matter because he had already won and she had _ lost, _ “but we’re not stopping on the way.”

And even if it wasn’t an empty threat, it did not bother her. Nesta had gone far longer than a morning without eating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was the first chapter! It'll have around twenty. I'm going to have the second chapter up by next Thursday at the latest.  
I'd love a comment, if you've got the time!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I want to thank you all so much for reading and leaving your lovely comments on the first chapter! I was absolutely blown away by your support. I think this is the longest chapter I've ever written for anything, so enjoy that if you like long chapters and I'm sorry if they annoy you!  
Seriously, thank you all so much. I am beyond grateful and so excited to share this chapter with you!

October 14 - 4 years after

Years ago, before she had children, in a different body, Nesta didn’t know there was a difference between quiet time and quiet time alone and just being by herself. In her first years as Other, she found she favored quiet time alone, but could only find it at the bottom of a glass. Now, as a mother she tries not to dwell on any of the three, because she rarely experiences them.

There’s always someone making noise in the background. Generally shrieking, mostly with laughter, though, for which she is eternally grateful. There are times when the noise is of pain, which never fails to rend her soul in two. Sometimes there is silence, which nearly always sends her into a panic and frantic searches.

Rarely, when she’s lucky, if she’s lucky, she gets a quiet moment. Quiet time, not by herself. With three tiny angels. All blessedly, miraculously, asleep.

Simultaneously.

This isn’t free time, Nesta knows. She’s got plenty to do. But she takes a moment to just gaze at her children, sleeping on their respective beds, unaware of the world around them.

Avery, her eldest, stirs a bit, and Nesta’s heart does, too. But she settles soon after, moving a lock of her deep brown hair--Nesta’s hair--out of her face.

Nesta knows she can gaze in wonder at her triplets the whole day through, but she knows that’s a luxury for another day. So she bends down to kiss Avery on her forehead.

“Good morning, ladybug,” she whispers to her.

Avery groans a little and writhes under her covers. Nesta laughs; another thing she bequeathed her daughter.

Nesta makes her way to Nicholas’ bed, and she lightly runs her fingers over his stomach as she kisses him. He giggles as he wakes up, opening his eyes and smiling widely. “Good morning, Nicky,” she says to him.

“Good morning,” he says, stretching out the vowels as he always does, in his sing-song tone. Nesta smiles again at his Gilameyvan accent. She knows her children can mimic hers, and they generally do, when they speak to her, but they always sound Gilameyvan when they chatter amongst themselves or to their fellow townspeople.

When she makes it to Ollie’s bed, he’s already awake, as she knew he would be, his brother and sister’s early morning antics having roused him. “Good morning,” she says to him.

Ollie reaches up to kiss her cheek, as well. He doesn't say anything. She doesn’t expect him too.

“All right,” Nesta says, standing up to leave the room. “Brush your teeth first. Then come downstairs.”

Nesta knows it useless even as she says it. Nicky never brushes his teeth before coming to breakfast, and sure enough, he grabs her hand and bounds down the stairs with her.

He’s babbling somewhat coherently, and Nesta joins in when necessary, most of her mind focused on breakfast. Ollie doesn’t eat enough in the mornings, she thinks, but she’s not sure if that’s just because he isn’t hungry. She wonders if she should take him to see their family healer, a female recommended to Nesta by the female who delivered the children.

But if she does take him, she’ll have to ask Zeyn to watch the other two. Perhaps he can pick them up from their nursery, if he leaves work early tomorrow. Or perhaps she’ll bring them all in to work with her and leave Avery and Nicky there with him? She’ll discuss it with him today.

“And I would like to go the store sometimes,” Nicky is saying.

“Oh?” she says. “What store?”

“Just for some groceries.”

“What groceries do you need?”

“I need some oranges.”

“You need some oranges?” she says to him. “I think that can be arranged.”

“I would also like to go to another store sometimes,” Nicky starts again, and Nesta half-listens to him, but now she’s mostly thinking about how Avery needs to drink more orange juice, but she will only do so out of a specific purple cup, and perhaps she should send that cup in along with her to nursery, perhaps that would be better than having the cup her at home.

“Mummy,”says Nicky, cutting into her thoughts. “Is Zeyn coming to our house?”

Nesta turns around to face him. Her expression is neutral. “Do you want him to?” she asks, placing a plate of pancakes in front of him.

“Yesh,” he says through a mouthful of sugarberries. He swallows. “Because he’s going to show me something.”

“Something.”

“It’s a secret.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. Zeyn is always making up secrets to share with each of her children. It only mildly irritates her, though. She actually likes that they all feel comfortable with him.

Well. Sometimes she likes it. Other times it scares her.

And that is one thought Nesta will not let herself wander towards. Because it’s another routine day in Sugar Valley, one she worked to make perfect for her children’s safety and happiness. There’s nothing here to threaten that, and she certainly will not let herself sabotage it with her own fears and weaknesses and insecurities. Not for the past three years. Not today.

And so she continues on preparing her children for the day, entertaining Nicky’s babbling, and Avery’s too, when she joins them. She encourages Ollie to take part in the conversation. She wraps them all in their winter coats, taking care of their wings as she does so. And she walks them to the Sugar Valley Nursery: outside their standard red-roofed house, past the others that look more or less the same, into the town square, where Avery and Nicky shout their hellos to the various shopkeepers and townspeople they have seen every day of their lives.

And like every morning she drops them off, her smile grows wide as Avery and Nicky rush inside, one of them taking care to rush Ollie along in with them.

Some days she’ll stop and chat with another parent, generally Classia, a female who emigrated from Prythian, or Ramilya, a Sugar Valley native. But today she doesn’t. She’s got extra work to do today, and she doesn’t want to leave any till tomorrow.

So she turns her back on the nursery. It doesn’t hurt her nearly as much as it did on the first day, just over a year ago, but there is still a twinge of longing. She misses them whenever they’re not with her. Every morning.

As per routine, Nesta does not let herself think about the people who no longer miss her.

Nesta’s persona at home-- _ Mummy _ , really, not Nesta--is quite different than who she is...well...anywhere not in front of her children.

Nesta will not lose her temper with her children. She made that decision long ago. And she’s kept true to her word. She doesn’t yell or grit her teeth or mock or threaten. She’d lost too much in her journey to holding them in her arms to do so. She’s a good mother. She has to be.

But only a few short hours at Sugar Book Manufacturing and Archiving, and all the patience Nesta has instilled in herself has evaporated.

“What the hell is this?” Nesta hisses, slamming a crate of books down on a table.

The male sitting at the table blinks up from his spining and meets her eye. He sticks his chin out. “Those are yours,” he says, his voice insisting.

“They’re short stories, Donmaz,” she says, her temper rising. “Do I look like I’m in charge of short stories?”

Maz folds his arms defiantly. “They’re romance short short stories. They’re yours.”

“Romance  _ novels _ ,” Nesta practically snarls. “Not short stories. Are you--?”

“Ah, let’s try for a little mercy on Maz this morning, Nesta. What do you think?”

Nesta shrugs off the hand on her shoulder and glares up at Zeyn. “Do I look like--”

“Like you’re very beautiful and very tired and overworked and you missed your morning coffee? Yes, you do,” he says, grinning as he hands her said coffee.

Nesta glowers at him, but takes the coffee. It’s her usual order from Samir’s, she knows.

“Take this over to Leyla, please, Maz,” Zeyn says cheerfully, pulling out two chairs at the table.

Maz gets up, shooting Nesta a glare which she returns. She sits down next to Zeyn when Maz is out of sight.

“He’s such an idiot,” Nesta says, venom in her voice.

“You just use up all your patience with Ava, Nicky, and Ollie,” he tells her, as he has many times before. There’s no judgment or malice in his tone, though. Only ever amusement and jest with Zeyn.

And kindness and sympathy and an eternal flow of patience he never uses up, not with her children and not with her.

Her gaze softens a bit. “I have so much work to do today,” she says.

“I know,” he replies. “Good find, though. I know you’re excited.”

Nesta allows herself a brief, small smile. She is excited. She’s been an archivist at Sugar Books for four years now, in charge of romance novels and anything human-authored. Obviously, most of her work focuses on the former, but Adil, their Head Archivist, has just brought it in a crate of human-authored novels from decades before Nesta was born. Her job is to restore them--reapplying ink if necessary, spining, applying new covers--and set a price. The other archivists participate in sales, but Nesta rarely does.

“No patience left for customers,” Zeyn likes to say.

Of course, Nesta is also in charge of reading them.

Nesta will always have a soft spot for human-authored books, no matter the genre, no matter if she even likes the book or not. Even reading something she doesn’t like...just feeling proof of human ingenuity and creativity and art in her hands...something she once thought she’d have to live completely without....

“Adil’s called a meeting for later today,” he says.

“What about?”

“Don’t know.”

“Is it going to run late? I have to be at the nursery--”

“At four,” Zeyn says, a lazy smile on his face. “You think I don’t know your schedule?” He lightly tugs on a lock of Nesta’s hair that’s fallen out her coronet.

His touch is warm and familiar. Comfortable. Nesta doesn’t shrug him away this time, and his fingers linger on her cheek.

Zeyn is a lesser faerie--though of course, they don’t call themselves that in Gilameyva. They uses the term nagil. The finger lingering on her cheek is warm, warmer than Nesta’s body is, and his skin is brown and spotted white, like a deer. He has ears like one as well, and horns.  _ Antlers _ , he calls them, but Nesta disagrees. They curl twice around, planted in his white hair, which is short and has the same texture as fur. His legs are muscular and humanoid down to his knees, where they switch to those of a deer, too, and end in hooves.

It’s never bothered Nesta. She’s never differentiated between the different types of faeries--first, because she feared and loathed them all, and now, because her town is full of nagil, and these are the people who helped her build a home for her children.

“How are your new mystery novels?” Nesta asks.

“Coming along,” he says, drawing his hand away from her cheek and draping it over her shoulder. He likes to always be touching Nesta, she knows, and she lets him, sometimes. “I’m glad they’re getting more popular.”

He tells her about the influx of customers from Wintergreen Glen, how their town’s bookstore wasn’t keeping up with their sudden demand for one of his genres and one of Leyla’s as well (horror).

She listens to him. Mostly. As she does with her children.

She just has so much work to do. And more to do when she gets home. She really can’t spare a moment to think.

“Hey, you two,” Xeyale Mammadov, calls, walking in. “Come to the front of the shop. Adil wants to start.”

Some of the nagil, like Zeyn, don’t spark anything in Nesta’s mind. They are faerie, yes, but not so faerie that she could not have imagined them as a human. But some people make her remember that humans know nothing of faeries.

Xeyale and their sibling Amir, their twin marketers, remind her.

Born to a nagil people with no sex markers, they each have black eyes, with no irises or whites, and deep blue skin. Their similarities end there, though, with Xeyale being a few inches taller than Amir, a longer face, and darker hair.

“Do you know what it’s about?” Nesta asks them.

“Yeah. And it’s quite grim, I think. Morrisey’s not signing with us.”

“What?”

“Really?”

Xeyale nods. “And Adil knew when I told him.”

Nesta stands up and stalks into the front room of the shop, where most of her fellow staff are already gathered. Adil is sitting quietly, ignoring Miri, the archivist in charge of faerie-authored human fiction and historical novels, talking animatedly with Leyla.

Maz and and Amir are talking as well, Maz still working on the spine of one of his new nonfictions.

Nesta jerks her head upward. “Is it true we’re not publishing the next Morrisey novel?” she demands.

At this, everyone stops talking. Leyla’s mouth drops open.

“What?”

“How can he do that?”

“Don’t we have a clause?”

“Is that true, Adil?” Miri says, in a calmer tone than the others, still sounding concerned. 

Adil meets her warm brown eyes with his own near-black ones. “I’d prefer to wait until Hazar is here to discuss the matter.”

Hazar, their publishing agent--oh, yes, Nesta wants to hear what he has to say about this.

And after a few minutes of uncomfortable murmuring (mostly from Maz--“What about the clause?”), Hazar walks in as he always does: unhurried, dressed impeccably in ostentatious City fashion favored by the young, later than everyone, and completely oblivious. In this case, it’s to Nesta glaring daggers at Adil and Adil’s pointed look at the ceiling.

“Good afternoon, lovely people,” he says, practically chirping.

“Right,” says Xeyale, clapping their hands. “To business, yes?”

Adil finally looks at them, his staff. He meets each of their eyes, takes a breath, and says, “We have competition.”

The archivists and agents are all quiet for a few moments. Then Leyla says, “Well, sure.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Adil says. He purses his lips. Miri strokes his arm with her hand, but Nesta doesn’t have the patience for this.

“Out with it, Adil.”

“I mean...” he says, and he looks right at Nesta, “we have competition in Chokecherry.”

Nesta sees Zeyn frown. She doesn’t think he understands. But she does, and her heart sinks. Images in her mind appear like flashes: Ava spinning around in her new City dress, Nicky laughing at the tumbling classes he’s only just started, and Ollie finally talking to another child at the local pool without following his brother and sister.

“Chokecherry doesn’t do publishing, though,” Maz says.

Nesta rolls her eyes, the biting reply an easy outlet for her heartbreak. “They’ve clearly begun, Donmaz. And they’re stealing our clients.”

“Morrisey’s signed another contract,” Adil says. “With them.”

“I don’t understand how he’s allowed to do that with our clause,” blurts out Maz.

“For the Mother’s sake, Maz,” Nesta says. “The clause only prohibits him reselling the novel we published.

“Well, why didn’t we put in--”

“My fault,” Hazar says, and his face has fallen, for the first time since Nesta has met him. “I just...I never even thought...we have no competition. Not west of Anvernessa City.”

“I don’t want us to start blaming each other,” Adil says sternly, and he looks each of them in the eye. “Now, this is going to be a fight. But we are not going to lose. We have the best team of archivists, the best set of marketers, and the best publishing agent in Gilameyva. We have the support of the town. We have loyal authors who won’t even consider signing with Chokecherry, and we’re going to write new contracts for those who might leave. We’re going to do better in sales, and we’re going to be all right.”

The pep-talk is all fine and good, but Nesta needs to feed three children and she will not drop any of the new things she has finally been able to provide for them. “How are we going to do better in sales?” she says.

“We’re going to travel,” he answers. “We’re going to go to berry fairs and open booths up. Amalike Orchards has one in two weeks and I’ve got us registered.” Adil continues telling them about his plan, about how this is going to work for them, but Nesta can’t hear him. She can only see the three of them, her children, her babies.

If they lose publishing, they will lose archiving and marketing. They will lose money. There will be pay cuts. And Nesta cannot have one. She has nothing to fall back on. She has savings, sure, but not enough forever, and they’re mostly for the children when they get older, when they want to start their lives--

“You’re spiraling,” Zeyn mumbles in her ear.

Nesta tucks a stray lock back. She struggles to keep her voice low and calm. “I’m properly concerned.”

“Do you really think any of us are going to let Ava or Nick or Ollie starve?” he says. “Do you think I’m going to let anything happen to you?”

Nesta’s heartbeat quickens. She knows he’s waiting for an answer. “I’m worried,” she says.

“I know,” he says, voice still low. “But you’ll be all right. This whole town adores your children. People love you. Even if they’re a little scared. You make them feel safe. Do you really think we’ll let you lose your house?”

She’ll never have the blind faith in people he has. But that’s one of the reasons she likes him around her children. She hopes they’ll be more like that. Trusting. Hopeful.

“You’ll be all right,” he whispers again.

The meeting ends rather unceremoniously, with Adil clearly not knowing whether or not he should apologize. Which he shouldn’t. She knows, perhaps better than the whole staff, how hard he works for them. How much he gives them.

She’s not naive. She knows full well the more than generous deal she made with the bank on her home was not in thanks to her salary as a then four-months-employed archivist.

And so she says to him, mumbling, “Thank you,” as she leaves.

But Adil is like her, and so he barely nods his acknowledgment and hurries to do something very urgent in the back room.

“Nicky wants you to come for dinner,” Nesta says to Zeyn as they gather their coats when it’s time to leave. “So you can show him your secret.”

Zeyn grins at her. “Of course he does.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “Are you coming, or are you breaking my son’s heart?”

“Breaking his heart, unfortunately,” he says, his voice in mock sorrow. Then he grins again. “Promised Maz I’d meet him at Jamal’s.”

“You’re ditching us for Maz?”

“I know you secretly love him. I’ll come over tomorrow.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Nesta says as they leave the store and head toward the nursery. “Can you pick up Avery and Nicky tomorrow? And just be with them for a bit? I need to take Ollie to the healer.”

Zeyn frowns, his ears quivering as his brow furrows. “What’s happened to Ollie?”

“He’s not eating.”

“Oh, Nesta, he’s three, he’s not starving himself. He’s just not hungry.”

“Well, Avery and Nicky eat a lot more than he does...”

They talk all the way to the nursery. It’s not so much bickering for Nesta as it is her thinking aloud and consulting, sharing her ideas and getting feedback in return.

Having Zeyn around is like having a partner, Nesta thinks.

“Zeyn!” Nicky cries when he spots them at the nursery. “Are you coming to my house?”

Zeyn scoops him up. “No, I’m sorry, little chief, I can’t today. But we’re going to be together tomorrow after nursery.”

“Can you!” Nicky cries out, then lowers his voice. “Can you show me our secret then?”

Zeyn lowers his voice to match Nicky’s. “I sure can.” He looks at Nesta and winks.

Nesta rolls her at him. “Hi, Ollie,” she says, crouching down to help him into his coat. “How was your day?”

“Good,” he says to her. His voice is small and high-pitched and he uses her accent when he talks to her.

“What did you do that was good?”

“I colored,” he says.

“You colored? That does sound good. Did you play with anyone?”

“Ava and Nicky.”

“Anyone else?”

“Emilia,” he says, naming Classia’s daughter, the female from Prythian.

“You did?” she says, smiling, pleasantly surprised.. “By yourself and Emilia or with your brother and sister?”

“By myself because Nicky was with Oz and Ava was with Ramil.”

Nesta beams at him. “Let’s get your sister. We’ll go home and eat something and maybe we’ll go to the park. Maybe we’ll pick up Emilia. How does that sound?”

“That sounds good!” Nicky says.

“All right, where’s Avery?”

It takes a little while longer to get back outside, and they split ways at the entrance to the housing section, with Zeyn turning around to meet Maz at whatever they’ve planned.

“Oh, and could you bring by some oranges?” Nesta calls after him.

He waves to show he heard her and she nods. She picks Nicky up, because he keeps walking too far ahead, and holds onto Ollie’s hand, because he keeps lagging behind, and says to Avery, “So, you were playing with Ramil today?”

“Yes, I was,” she says. “I was playing with him and with Nicky and Ollie and Kamrin and Zehra--”

“Avery, ladybug,” she says. “Can you tell me how Ramil’s doing?”

Ramil’s mother was alone, like Nesta was. They had just moved here. Nesta didn’t know from where, but she suspected Anvernessa City, Gilameyva’s capital. She felt for the female.

Avery starts to tell her, but she doesn’t hear. Because her heart has stopped in her chest. Because Cassian is standing on her porch.

* * *

September 23 - Year of

Nearly two weeks Nesta had been in Illyria, and though she did not think it comfortable in the least, she had found herself a routine.

Every morning she would stay in her bedroom in Cassian’s home and ignore his incessant knocking until he left to go do whatever it was he did. After she heard him-- _ felt him _ \--leave, she made her way to the kitchen to find herself something to eat.

It appeared that she left whatever little appetite she had back in Velaris and she could not keep what she did manage to swallow down. Generally a bit of dry toast. Then she’d head back to her room and try to concentrate long enough on a book to read, until it was time for lunch. Then she again try to force something down, something warm. Try to read again. Until she fell asleep.

She skipped dinner. Cassian was always there for dinner.

And all this while trying to avoid the mind-splitting headaches.

She knew what was causing them. She needed a drink.

There was no reprieve. She wanted a drink every second; she did not care what kind. She could feel every drop of blood in her body circulating and every drop hurt. Every bit of her screamed for it, demanded it.

But she had searched the entire house top to bottom multiple times, even though she knew it was no use. There was no way Cassian would keep anything even similar to alcohol. Not while she was here. And certainly not if her sister had anything to do with it.

She had sent letters. They both had, Feyre and Elain. Cassian left them for her in the kitchen. They made her freeze the first time she saw them. She hadn’t realized what she was doing, but she was suddenly aware of herself holding them, moving to open them. She had dropped them just as suddenly and turned on her heel, back into her room.

She did not even let herself think what was in those letters. She couldn’t even bear to summon their images in her mind’s eye.

The throbbing pain in her head, in sync with her aching blood flow and the chokehold she felt beating at her throat never wavered, and she did not know if they ever would.

She was sitting in her room, book open in her lap, staring at the wall, when she heard him walk in the door.

He did everything so loudly...each step thundered through the house, shaking the desk a bit when he knocked on the door.

She did not know why he bothered. She knew he was home, obviously, and they both knew she wasn’t going to open the door. She did not enjoy their fights nearly as much as he clearly did, and she was too tired, anyway.

“Nesta, I know you’re up.”

That’s what he said each time. And it was such a stupid thing to say, it almost earned him a biting reply.  _ I know you’re up _ .... She wasn’t hiding it! She wasn’t too scared to talk to him. She just could not have been bothered.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

She almost scoffed aloud.

“About... I’m going to Velaris.”

At that, she responded. Not to him, of course, not in words. But she jerked her head towards the door.

He was leaving to Velaris? He was...leaving her alone? Or would he send someone in his stead? Someone from Velaris to take his place here, or some other brute from Illyria?

Of course, if he was going to Velaris, that meant Feyre had summoned him. Feyre would not have some Illyrian stay in the house with her, would she? She hadn’t let Lucien, the Autumn male, talk to them when they were all staying in the House of Wind, and they had been friends....

“So you’ll be alone for a few days.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. A few days? Alone?

“I’m leaving now. I’ll be back before the week is over.”

And what day was it? She did not know, she was not keeping track. She only knew she had been here about two weeks because a few days prior had asked her if she wanted to do something special for their one-week anniversary.

Prick. Sometimes he made her angry enough to want to break out of the quiet she had sunken herself into.

“Something’s come up. It’s urgent.”

_ I don’t care _ , she almost said, but she bit her tongue.

“Well, I’m going now.”

She heard him leave down the hall into his own room. After a few minutes, she heard him reenter the hallway and linger for a few moments. She knew he was debating going to knock on her door again or just leaving.

He decided to go. She heard his retreating footsteps, and the front door open and shut. She was alone in the house.

Nesta closed her book slowly.

Being alone in the house did not mean very much to Nesta. She did, of course, prefer it over being with him. But it’s not like there was anything she did while he was gone.

Still, it seemed a shame to waste these precious few days...whole days with him gone, in Velaris. Hours of flight away.

Illyrians were a warrior race; these mountains clearly had nothing to offer her. But she might like a walk outside. And she might...possibly...find a tavern.

That thought was enough to set her in motion. She grabbed her coat and and made her way to the door.

She opened it and was startled by how cold it was. And the wind. Nesta had never lived in the mountains before, she hadn’t realized how windy it could get. And this was the northernmost area of Prythian. It was only September...how cold would it get?

If she was going to spend more time outdoors here, she would certainly need heavier clothes. But she had no money, and it would have to be a lot colder than the windchill for her to ask Cassian to take her shopping.

Cassian’s house was separate from the others in the camp. That’s what he called it, a camp. Not a town. Not even a village. A camp. A war camp.

The houses in the camp all circled the center. It was easy enough to find, and she remembered Cassian pointing it out to her as they flew in.

“It’s got all the stores,” he told her. “Clothes and food and...” he had trailed off, and standing in the center, Nesta knew why. It was because it didn’t have much else.

The clothing stores were clearly nothing like the ones in Velaris--they weren’t even better than the market booths in her little human village. Just looking in through the windows, she could see they sold things people would need for the cold in the mountains and fighting gear. Nothing fashionable or fun.

Nesta had liked wearing pretty things, once. She may not have cared for her appearance anymore, but she quite suddenly found herself missing just wanting something new.

The food shops weren’t much better. Nesta passed a few butchers’, two produce places, and a fish market. There was a place Nesta knew would serve drinks, but it was too big, it would be too crowded, too noisy. Not what she was looking for.

There were dozens of Illyrians around, of course. Nesta had forgotten how much they had feared her last time.

But she did not spare any of them a second glance. Most High Fae in Velaris had been frightened of her as well, and she learned how to let that roll off her, as well.

After a few more minutes of wandering, on the edge of the shops, she found it. It wasn’t clearly advertised as a tavern, but that was how she knew: Nesta had done a good job of familiarizing herself with shoddy, unmarked buildings.

Some of the Illyrians around her--mostly female, the males were probably off training for whatever war they planned to fight next--mumbled as she steered herself towards it, but she didn’t care. She was thinking only of her next drink.

_ Finally.  _ It had been far too long.

No bell rang as she entered, but the door creaked. The few patrons there were inside did not look up, but the male at the counter did. His chin set and he squared his shoulders. Summoning his courage to face her, undoubtedly. Ridiculous.

Nesta looked around as she approached him. The chairs were mis-matched, but mostly all red, and looked comfortable enough. There were two males in the far corner playing a card game--not one she recognized, but she was a fast learner. They had a plate of what looked to be thinly sliced roasted potatoes. She wasn’t sure how clean they were, but she always appreciated when a tavern offered something more than assorted nuts.

“What’s your house drink?” Nesta asked the male as she slid into a seat at the bar. All the abandoned gods, she was  _ finally  _ going to have a drink. She hated even wasting time to ask! Because anything he would give her would be good enough.

“Not serving,” he said carefully. His eyes flickered around the room, but they kept darting back towards her.

“All right,” she said, frowning a little. The whole point of the house drink was that it was served all hours the establishment was open, but whatever, she didn’t care. “Do you have any white liquor?”

He shook his head.

“Ale?” she said.

He took a deep breath and a step back. “No, lady, I mean we’re not serving you.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes and angled herself forward. “You’re not serving me?”

The male took another deep breath. “Commander’s orders, lady.”

Nesta’s lip curled.  _ Commander’s orders _ . She would kill him. She would kill Feyre and her stupid new High Lord. And most of all, she would kill for a drink.

As she opened her mouth, ready to shred into the barmale, an old expression her mother used to use floated into her mind: you catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.

“Look,” she said, and she tried to make her voice sound less... frightening. “It’s been a long few weeks. I just want one drink. Your Commander’s been hounding me... I’m sure you can understand.” She tried to laugh a little at the end.

Was she flirting? She didn’t know. She had never been good with any of that stuff, anyway. Feyre and Elain, sure. But she had never really engaged in a courtship.

With Tomas... she didn’t like to think about it. But in hindsight, it was clear to her that no, she didn’t really captivate him with any wit. And it made her feel stupid to think back on it, so she steered her mind back towards the bar.

“He’s not my Commander,” grunted the barmale.

“What a coincidence,” she said cooly. “Neither is he mine.” She drummed her fingers on the bar. “Come on, then.” She pulled a silver piece out of her pocket, grossly overpaying for one glass. “Just one drink... I’ll even buy you one.”

There. That was flirting, wasn’t it? And she was still beautiful, even if she did terrify him, and anyway, males liked feeling scared. Didn’t they? Wasn’t it part of the excitement for them?

That’s what had driven all those males in Velaris to her bed. She certainly hadn’t made any effort to romance them.

Would she take this male to bed? The thought of being with an Illyrian... Cassian would lose his mind, surely. Which had its appeal. But Nesta didn’t think she’d be able to stand it, either.

With a start, she realized she was thinking of doing something solely for the purpose of irritating Cassian. Just being in a tavern was making her feel better.

Well, perhaps not solely that purpose. Sleeping with a barmale would have other obvious perks as well.

“What do you say?” she tried to sound coy. She wagered she did not.

“I say get out,” he said, flatly. Then hurried to add, “Lady. Commander’s orders... as I said.”

_ Commander’s orders _ . Nesta clenched her jaw, angry thoughts swimming in her mind.

So he just brought her here, dumped her in his war camp, and cut off all resources to her only vice?

Nesta turned herself around, stiffly. There was no point in arguing with him. He was clearly more scared of Cassian than he was of her, and she did not have enough control of her magic to threaten him properly. There were not enough patrons to sneak in and convince one to buy her a drink--but later, tonight, perhaps, there would be. Yes, she would come again tonight, find someone, a group of males, eager to impress her and one another, and she would beat them at cards and they would buy her a drink.

She stopped at the door. There was a corkboard with papers pinned to it. Some notices in Illyrian, some in the common tongue. One in particular caught her eye. She turned back around to the barmale.

“What is this?”

“What?” he said warily.

“This,” she said, pointing at the flyer in question.

“Oh,” he said. “Ships out to Gilameyva every two months. You can ship something. Or you can book passage.”

“Gill-ah-may-vah?” Nesta said, trying out the new word.

“Aye, lady. On the continent. No more than a month by ship.” He looked at her expectantly, but still wary. “Will that be all? Lady?”

Her eyes trailed back to the paper. The date read for two weeks from then. The cheapest ticket price was...more than Nesta has on her.

Somehow she didn’t think Cassian would fund this.

She didn’t answer the barmale. She just left, and she ignored the Illyrians who pulled themselves out of her way as she stalked back to the house.

Her mind was focused on the paper. It advertised Gilameyva as the berry lands. There had been a drawing of a berry field on the bottom, with smiling faeries.

It sounded ridiculous, as a country. And the only lands she knew of on the continent had sided with Hybern in the war. And she didn’t have near enough money to buy her way there, let alone support herself when she arrived

But the idea was there. And it wouldn’t go away, not if she knew herself.

Which, she mused, she wasn’t quite sure she did anymore.

* * *

October 14 - 4 years after

Cassian has spent the entire flight from Velaris with Nesta’s likeness in his mind’s eye. In different forms. Her snarls from when he had known her in her father’s estate, her blank nothing in her crumbling apartment, and her eventual comfort in Illyria. Or so he thought. Before she fled.

And of course, he thinks of the Nesta he hadn’t seen. He imagines her wandering Gilameyva, pregnant and alone. Hungry and poor and scared and calling for him. Wanting to come back. Sending letters and crying when no response came.

Of course, that image is barely reconcilable with the Nesta he knew, in any of her states. And she has a home, as he knows from the Veritas. And she does look well enough, from what he was able to make out. A bit heavier than he remembers her, which is good.

But the fact remains. He has become everything he has raged against. He has abandoned his pregnant female to rear their children alone.

Rhys, he knows, will plead his ignorance of her pregnancy, but it doesn’t matter. Not to him, not as he sees her lost and afraid the whole way over to Sugar Valley. And certainly not as he finally sees her in person, when she turns the corner to her house, her-- _ their _ \--children in tow.

Everything he planned on saying falls out of his head. There is simply Nesta. Nesta, her hair in her usual coronet, framing her face, paler in Gilameyva’s autumn than it had been in Illyria’s. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and then they are white, and then very red.

He can’t take his off her. He can’t speak.

Until he hears a small voice say, “Who’s our neighbor, Mummy?”

And he looks down. At his son.

The one who spoke has black hair-his black hair--loose around his face, almost rectangular with the chubbiness of his cheeks. Wide grey eyes. Red lips. And Cassian realizes the combination of pointed ears and Illyrian wings, which he has only seen on two other people before, is in front of him threefold.

Nesta says, softly, “He’s not our neighbor.”

Her voice. He has not heard her voice in four years.

“Does he live here?” pipes up the girl.

And Cassian nearly breaks down in tears when he takes in the girl. Because she is Nesta, with her sharp chin and sloped nose and full lips. The same brown hair. But she is slightly darker than her mother...and she has hazel eyes.

“No,” Nesta says, her voice still quiet.

He looks at the third child, the other boy. Slightly smaller than the other two, with a thinner face than his brother and darker skin than his sister and his eyes, again. His hair is lighter than any of theirs, more reminiscent of Feyre and Elain than Nesta.

They are all so perfect, beautiful, small, and Cassian’s about to fall to his knees and beg Nesta for her forgiveness when she locks eyes with him and opens her mouth and says, “Let’s go inside.”

“Can we say hello?” the girl asks her.

“You can say hello. Then go play upstairs.”

“Is he coming inside? Hello!” The greeting is directed at him when they reach the door.

Cassian tears his stare from Nesta and looks down to the girl--his daughter. “Hello,” he says, and by some miracle he manages to find his voice and sounds normal.

But then she  _ smiles _ at him and Cassian doesn't know what to do because he can feel his heart break again--

“Inside,” Nesta instructs. She is seemingly unaffected, ushering the children in as she opens the door.

“I want to say hello too!”

“You can say hello, then go inside and let Mummy talk.”

“Hello! What’s your name?”

“Are you our neighbor?”

“Inside,” Nesta says firmly, and closes the door. She turns to face him.

Neither of them say anything.

Until he does. He says to her, “Hello.” And his voice is as soft as hers was with the children.

Hers is not. “Why are you here?”

He blinks. Is she serious? “That’s all you have to say to me?”

“I said everything I wanted to four years ago. There’s nothing left to say.”

He supposes she’s right but it still hurts, cuts sharply into his heart.

“Are you all right?” he asks her. Because that’s surely all that matters here.

“Am I all right?” she asks, blankly, as if not understanding what he means.

“You and the children,” he says. “Are you all right?”

Nesta purses her lips--Mother, he’d forgotten she did that. “We’re...fine,” she says slowly.

“Let me help,” he says immediately. “What is it?” He prays it’s money, because he doesn’t know what else he can do. What if she says she can’t take care of them by herself anymore? Will they move to Velaris? Or will he have to move here? Or what if...what if she says she can’t at all anymore, and the children are his fault and he left her, really, because of the letters, and now he has to take care of them alone? He doesn’t know how. He’s nearly five hundred fifty years old and he’s never had children to take care of.

She looks up. Looks back at him. Her eyes tell him she hates this. “My...place of work,” she says carefully, gritting her teeth, “may be coming into some...issues.”

Relief hits him like a blast of cold wind. “I’ll give you money,” he says. “I’ll--you can have access to my entire account. It’s in Velaris’ bank--I’ll set it up so you can use it here.”

“I don’t need your entire account,” she starts to say.

“Please let me be in your lives,” he blurts out. “Please. Please, Nesta, sweetheart, please.”

Her eyes widen. He bites his lip.  _ Please  _ he wants to say again, but he doesn’t let himself.

She takes a deep breath. “I can’t...discuss this...right now.”

He seizes the meagre bone she tosses. “When can you?” 

Nesta brings her hand to her face and rubs the bridge of her nose. “Um,” she says, eyes shut tight. “Tomorrow...noon.”

“Lunch?”

Nesta opens her eyes. He can’t quite read them, which is another twist inside. He used to know all her looks, all her poses. He used to _ name _ them.

“Sure,” she says. “Lunch. There’s a place in the square. Jamal’s. We can meet there.”

He sucks in a breath. This feels surreal. He’s making plans with Nesta for lunch tomorrow and his children are inside.

“Nesta--”

“I don’t care what you think of me, but I am a good mother,” she cuts him off. And there’s  _ fire  _ in her eyes, the fire that burned in a body far weaker than the one before him, burned all the way through he feared it would destroy her. “I am doing this for them, you understand?”

“I understand,” he says.

“Where are you staying?”

“I, ah....”

“There’s an inn. Just outside town. Sugar Valley Inn.” She gives him the address. “Tell no one who you are. Tell no one where you’re from. Do not mention my name. In any capacity. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Then...go. And...I’ll...see you. At lunch.” She looks at him for a moment, on the verge of something, but then pushes past him, enters the house and shuts the door firmly behind her. He can hear her turn four locks.

He knows he could stay here on her porch all night, so he throws open his wings and flies in search of the inn, before he hears one of their voices and breaks down the door, begging her to let him in.

He sees the street name Nesta gave him before he even realizes he doesn’t know their names.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was chapter two! I'm so excited to be really getting into the story. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing! Let me know what you think in the comments or come talk to me on Tumblr @ladynestaarcheron. Love you all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So, I'm pretty thrilled to tell you all I have a Kudos-to-view ratio of about 10%, which is beyond cool. So thank you guys so much for that!  
I finished this chapter a lot faster than I expected, because it just flowed so easily!  
Enjoy:)

October 15 - 4 years after

Nesta’s children, like all children, depend on routine and cling to their own, so Nesta tries as hard as she can to keep to their schedule, and Sugar Valley is quiet enough that there is near nothing out of the ordinary, and virtually everything is alerted to the community a week before in town meetings.

Erest, the town’s councilhead, neglected to inform her that Cassian, the father of her children, whom she has not seen for four years, would be on her doorstep last night, consequently throwing the rest of her week and life into disarray.

Although obviously nothing of this caliber has every come up, there have been times when she has had to change their plans at a moment’s notice, and she’s figured out a way to ease them into the transition: she tells them they  _ get  _ to do the change.

“All right, who’s ready to have so much fun at Mummy’s work today?” she says when she wakes them up.

They chorus their replies, Nesta having excited them enough into distraction of the fact that coming with her to work means they’ll miss seeing their friends that day.

Nicky chatters about how Zeyn will show him his secret at the store today, and Nesta can barely force herself to respond, her head still reeling from her and Cassian’s talk. It had been short, no longer than three minutes, but that first moment, before Nicky had spoken, had lasted forever.

He has not changed over the four years they have been apart, she knows, but he was suddenly  _ there _ last night,  _ here _ in Sugar Valley right now, and he just looked bigger than she remembers. No, perhaps not bigger. Just more.

Looking into his face...she saw her children. Nicky’s hair and Avery and Ollie’s eyes, his brown skin echoed in theirs in various tones. And of course, the wings.

It’s not her fault she thinks he’s beautiful. She has to. He looks like her babies.

They had accosted her last night, bombarded her with questions-- _ who was that, Mummy? _ They know everyone in Sugar Valley. There aren’t too many people to know. And certainly no one else with Illyrian wings.

They are too little to register their other physical similarities, but the wings were very obvious to them. They wanted to know if he was going to go with them to flying lessons, and she didn’t have an answer.

_ Please let me be in your lives. _

Will she?

She wants what is best for the children. She will do whatever they need. But what if that hurts her? Or what if Cassian can offer them more than she can?

She’s confused. Her mind is in turmoil. She slept miserably, just lying in bed wondering what this would mean for her future, her children’s future...and thinking of Cassian doing the same, in the town’s inn.

He’s here. In Gilameyva. She’s meeting him for lunch.

She hopes her children have forgotten, and mercifully they do not mention him as she readies them for the day. She can barely stay focused on them, and her mind is fixed on Cassian as she walks them all to Sugar Books, she only realizes she has no idea what she is going to tell Zeyn when she sees him.

He holds up her coffee in an outstretched hand, pulling Avery towards him in the other. “Good morning,” he says, smiling broadly. “I didn’t realize you were going to be here all day.”

“We’re going to have so much fun!”

“We’re going to read.”

“Mummy’s going to play with us all day.”

“Show me our secret!”

“I want a secret too!”

“You’ll all get your secrets,” Zeyn assures them. “Why don’t you go wait for me in the reading nook?”

The three of them dash off to the far corner of the store. Adil had brought in pillows and stuffed toys and play house and put them next to the children’s books when Nesta had given birth. She had brought them in every day before they started at the nursery.

“So, why’d you bring them all in? And when are you taking Ollie?”

Nesta stares at him blankly for a moment, before she remembers--she was meant to take Ollie to the healer’s today. She bites her lip. “Oh, no, I just...I have to go to the healer’s myself. Without Ollie, I mean.”

He looks at her, surprised. “You’re not taking Ollie?”

“No...not this time.”

“Oh,” he says, brow furrowing. “So you’re going to the healer? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing to worry about,” she says. She tries to sound reassuring, but she hates lying to him. “I’ll be leaving at noon. I’m not quite sure when I’ll be back....”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, smiling at her reassuringly.

And she feels a sudden onslaught of anger at Cassian--he’s making her lie to Zeyn. Zeyn, who has been nothing but kind to her since she met him. Who helped her with her pregnancy, with the children’s infancy, with nights of fear of the unknown. When  _ he _ had left her. 

“Thank you,” she mumbles, not looking at him. “I...have to go find Miri. I think some of our books have been switched.”

And she leaves him, practically fleeing.

“I need to talk to you,” she says to Miri, under her breath, when she finds her.

“Talk away,” Miri says, not looking up from the pile of books she’s sorting.

“It’s urgent.”

Miri picks her head up. Her gaze turns worried when she sees Nesta’s anxious eyes, biting on her lower lip. “Let’s...go to the back room.”

Nesta follows Miri along. The female has become a sort of mother-figure to her. Nesta finds it hard to grow close to anyone, she always has, but this staff...all of them hold a spot in her heart, and Miri’s is particularly intimate. She had cried with her, during her pregnancy. About how scared she was, about how she wasn’t meant to be a mother.

Miri shuts the door behind them. She pulls two chairs aside and they sit. She doesn’t say anything, only looks at Nesta patiently, waiting.

Nesta takes a deep breath. She doesn’t know how to say this, but she expects this isn’t the time for beating around the bush. It’s past nine and she has less than three hours.

“My children’s father showed up at my doorstep last night,” she says, getting it all out in one breath.

Miri’s eyes widen and her mouth parts open. She puts her hand on Nesta’s knee. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. I think. I don’t know.”

“What did he say? Do the children know?” She pulls herself backwards and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, dear. I don’t mean to spring all these questions on you. I just...I’m shocked.”

“I know,” Nesta says. “I am as well.”

“How did he find out? Did he...” Miri hesitates. “Did he read the letters?”

Nesta purses her lips. “I don’t know. He didn’t say. I...didn’t let him talk much. I sent him to the inn.”

Miri nods. Her eyes have narrowed slightly, debating what course of action to take.

“I’m meeting him for lunch today. At Jamal’s. I brought the children here...I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone....”

“Oh, of course, dear,” Miri says. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll just...shall I bring them over to your house after we close, or...?” Miri trails off.  _ Or will you be bringing him into your home _ Nesta hears.

“Yes,” she says firmly. “Please. Or, I don’t know, if you want to take them to the park, you can. Just,” Nesta pauses to take another deep breath. “I don’t know what to do. About him. Or what to tell them. Or...Zeyn.”

“Ah,” Miri says. “Well.” She pauses. Miri is always so careful with her words, so gentle. “Well, you know your children always come first.”

“I know!”

“I know you know. But you have to remember that it’s important to keep what’s best for you in mind as well...at the very least, to keep you in good form...to keep _ them _ in good form.” Miri looks meaningfully at Nesta. “Do you understand?”

Nesta nods. “I do. I just....” Nesta blinks rapidly as, to her horror, she feels her eyes start to brim with tears.

But she’s _ done  _ crying over him.

“I know,” Miri says softly.

“I don’t know what to do,” she says, putting her face in her hands. “I will always do what’s best for them. But I don’t know what that is here. I mean,” she picks her head up and looks into Miri’s eyes. “I mean, I’ve given them a good life here. And you and Adil and Zeyn have been a part of that...and Leyla...and Samir and Jamal...and Erest and Madam Sabina and Aysel and everyone in this town--” Nesta nearly chokes on the words. She  _ won’t _ cry. She won’t.

Nesta has worked so hard on being a good mother. And part of that was letting go of all her anger. Children needed joy. She could not give them that if she was hurting. And--this was going to bring back all the pain.

“Oh, dear,” Miri says, moving her chair closer to Nesta and wrapping her arms around her. Nesta leans into her, the stone-like texture of Miri’s deep brown skin always cool.

“I just don’t know what to do,” she says after a few minutes.

“One step at a time,” Miri says soothingly. “You’ll meet him for lunch. You’ll figure out how he’s going to be a part of their lives. You’re not moving back to the Night Court, he probably won’t move here. At least not right now. You’ll figure out where he fits with along the way.”

“I don’t want him to fit alongside me. I have Zeyn.”

Miri doesn’t comment, for which Nesta is grateful. Miri doesn’t know what it is she felt with Cassian years ago, but she knows she doesn’t feel for Zeyn what he so clearly feels for her, something which Nesta always finds herself strangely guilty for.

Zeyn has always been nothing but sweet and good to her and her children. It would be so easy to be with him. Things were always easy with Zeyn.

His and Cassian’s respective presences, their roles in her children’s lives...they would clash now.

But thinking of Zeyn made her wonder: if being with Zeyn fully, openly, completely letting him into their lives and her soul really would be better for her children...and she hadn’t done it...could she do the same with Cassian?

She would soon find out, she expects.

“Please don’t tell anyone about this,” Nesta says, looking up at Miri.

“Of course not,” Miri promises. “Not to anyone.”

Nesta smiles softly in thanks, but feels the anxiousness eating away at her. Sugar Valley is too quiet a town for secrets to stay hidden for long, and with Cassian staying at the inn, meeting her at Jamal’s for lunch, even if it is during the quiet time of the day...with the wings the other townspeople have only seen thrice before....

Well. She’ll have to tell Zeyn soon, that much she knows. But not yet.

* * *

September 27 - Year of

He knew she had been out the moment he flew back into camp, soaring over the center. He was so in tune to her scent, it jumped out at him immediately.

He guessed she had gone out in search of a drink. He was certain she hadn’t found one. There was no way anyone was going to give her one. He’d made certain of that.

Cassian knew she hated him now. And it hurt him more than he’d ever admit, to her or himself or anyone else. But he knew he was doing the right thing. And she’d see that eventually.

With the drinking, at least. Moving her to Illyria...he wasn’t sure.

He was actually pleased she’d left the house. Even if it was to a bar. Just breathing some fresh air, talking to people...that was good for her. That must have been good for her, right?

He didn’t think she’d last this long without talking to him. He expected the silent treatment, but not for more than a week. He’d been baiting her, but she wasn’t rising to it.

Perhaps now that he’d come back after giving her some space, she’d speak to him. Maybe he’d make her dinner--maybe she’d  _ eat _ dinner. 

His house on the edge of the town stood before him, and Nesta was inside. He could feel her. He could always feel her.

He let himself in and looked around. She was in her room, true, but perhaps she had left signs of leaving it? Dishes in the sink, a book lying on the couch?

But there was nothing. It was like she wasn’t even there.

So he made his way to her bedroom. He hesitated, as he always did, then knocked. “Nesta?” he called.

Silence. But she was there. And whether she liked it or not, he could feel the slight change in her when he said her name. Nothing drastic enough to be able to name, but still. It meant something to her.

“I’m here,” he added, rather unnecessarily. He hoped it might spark a sarcastic reply, but still, she said nothing.

“I was at a neighboring camp,” he said. “There’s talk of rebellion. You know, to overthrow me. And Rhys. Perhaps you’d like to join them? I brought you pamphlets.” He smirked to himself. She didn’t say anything again, but he knew he was irritating her.

Irritated was good. It was passion. It was  _ something _ \--not like the broken, dejected female who stood before him on Solstice-- _ go home, Cassian _ .

He debated mentioning her little outing, but decided against it. Her pride was probably wounded, and he didn’t want her to hate him more than she already did.

“I’m making a stew,” he said. “Are you hungry?”  _ Of course  _ she was hungry. She was starving herself. She had to be hungry. He knew there was some food that had disappeared from the kitchen--bread, mostly, perhaps a bit of butter--not nearly enough to live on, just barely enough to survive.

He closed his eyes. “Please. Sweetheart. Come eat something.”

He tried everything with her. Every day. A casual conversation, as if she would open the door normally, then cajoling, until that didn’t work either. And then, sometimes, he would beg.

“I don’t....”

_ Want to watch you waste away _ , he didn’t say.  _ Want to watch you kill yourself. _

He placed his palm on the door. “Please open the door, Nesta.”

He hated himself sometimes. Because every time, he thought she would finally give in. Finally come back to life. Let him help her. And every time, it hurt when she didn’t.

“Just a bit of meat, Nesta. Or maybe some soup? If you want...” he paused. Smiled a bit. “I got something for you.”

He listened hard. Perhaps he could hear her cock her head, or stand. She didn’t, or at least, not loud enough for him to notice.

He pulled out a slim bar wrapped in a deep blue foil. “Smell that? Want some?”

He’d studied Nesta hard enough to know that before she turned to drink, she’d had another vice. A sweet tooth. Chocolate was her favorite.

He supposed it was stupid to expect this to be what got her out of her room and talking to him, but his heart still sunk. “It’s dark. With a berry glaze.” He looked at the wrapper. “I don’t know why you like this stuff so much.” 

And there! What was that he sensed?

She did want the chocolate. He said, smug, “Well, I’ll just leave this on the table, then.”

She could get it tomorrow morning, after he left. He’d rather her sit down with him, of course, but putting a bit of sugar in her bloodstream was the main thing.

“I think I’ll be going to more camps soon,” he said. “Because of the rebellion talks. Maybe you can join me sometime. You know, to help quiet them. Or join, like I said. Whichever you’d like.”

With that, he turned and left to the kitchen. He knew he had not made any real progress with her, but knowing she had left the house gave him the illusion he had.

Well. Perhaps she’d eat the chocolate tomorrow. And he’d leave the stew warming for her before he’d leave.

She had to come out eventually. Had to. And if she didn’t, he’d break down the door. Because he’d watched her lose her life once, and he wasn’t going to do it again.

* * *

October 15 - 4 years later

Once again, Nesta casually manipulates her children by asking them who’s excited about spending their afternoon with Aunt Miri. Adil shoots her a curious look but doesn’t say anything, and, like a coward, she leaves when Zeyn is in the back room.

Nesta makes her way quickly to Jamal’s. Cassian is already sitting at a table and jumps when he sees her walk through the door.

His wings are tucked away and hidden out of sight, mercifully. Still she can tell Jale, the waitress, notices his eyes and hair. She looks at Nesta rather suspiciously, but doesn’t say anything about it as she hands them their menus.

Of course, Nesta can see her eagerly whispering to the cook, Resad, through the kitchen window. Wonderful.

Nesta doesn’t waste anytime. “How did you find me?” Her voice is loud enough for only him to hear.

“Azriel,” he says, matching her pitch.

She should’ve known.

“Have you been spying on me?”

“We’ve been looking for you. We have been-- _ out of our minds _ \--with worry. I--your sisters--” Cassian can’t finish his sentence.

So. They did not read her letters. She had said time and time again where she was.

She had known, in her heart. It still hurt. Even after everything.

She says so anyway, just to be sure. Or to torture herself. “Did you get my letters?”

Sorrow fills his eyes. He moves to stretch out an arm, but think better of it.

“You didn’t read them.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move.

And it hurts  _ again _ .

Her  _ sisters _ .

Nesta straightens. “Well. It’s your own fault, then, that you didn’t know where I was.”

Cassian releases a shaky breath. “Nesta....”

“All right. We need to make somethings clear.” Nesta stops as Jale brings their meals. “Thank you, Jale,” she says, keeping her voice normal.

Cassian stares at her, shocked.

“What?”

“You--you know her?”

Nesta looks at him. “Yes. I know everyone in this town.”

“You just...you sounded so...” He struggles to find the right word. “Pleasant?”

Her eyes narrow.

“I just meant that you sounded like you like her and you don’t like very many people,” he says hurriedly.

“In Prythian,” Nesta says. “I like people in Sugar Valley just fine.”

He looks away from her then, out the window. Watching her fellow townspeople come and go.

She does like them. She loves it here.

“Right,” she says briskly. “I have rules. Before we begin.”

He snaps his eyes back to her. Nods once. “All right.”

“I never compromise what is best for my children. And neither do you.”

“Yes, of course--”

“And  _ I _ decide what is best for my children.”

“Yes, yes--”

“So I have full veto power, over everything to do with them. Always.”

“Nesta--”

“Regardless of how much money you give me.”

Cassian swallows. “Nesta, I understand. I...agree to your terms.”

She hadn’t meant to make it sound like war negotiations, but that’s the comparison that she thinks of. “I suppose...that’s all I need to say. For now.” Perhaps, one day, she would ask him why he never wrote back, never even read her letters. But she wasn’t nearly ready to hear that now.

“Can I start?” he blurts out, and his voice goes a little louder than their low tones.

“Keep your voice down,” she snaps. “Yes. You can start.”

“What are their names? How old are they? Can I meet them--tonight? And when can we discuss Velaris? And the money, I need your account number--”

“They’re three,” she interrupts him. “Born on the summer solstice. So nearly three and a half.”

He stares at her open-mouthed. He tries to say something, but he can’t.

“First came Avery,” she says, her voice soft as well as low. “Avery Elfa...most everyone calls her Ava.” She has always loved the name Avery, a favorite heroine from her childhood who has stayed ever-present in her mind since then. Her middle name, Nesta chose as a nod to the girl’s aunts. “She’s so much like you,” she whispers, looking at Cassian but not really seeing him. Seeing her little warrior-heart, so, so much like the male before her.

Cassian’s eyes glisten silver.

“And then Nicky...Nicholas Justin.” Justin was her tribute to Adil; it was what the name meant in the old version of their tongue. And Nicholas...Cassian knew why she had chosen Nicholas.

“Nesta...” he said, his hand slowly inching towards hers.

“He’s so funny,” she says, laughing a little. “He always makes me laugh. He sings all the time. He makes up little songs....

“And then Ollie. Ollison Bailey.” Ollison Bailey was a human name. Ollison, for her father, and then Bailey for her mother’s father, whom she had always been close with. The name sounds odd along with the others, she knows, and she hadn’t even liked it much when she first thought of it, but holding him, looking into his eyes, she had just known.

“Ollie’s such a sweetheart,” she says, half to herself. She doesn’t even notice her choice of words. She glances up at him then quickly looks away.

“Nesta,” Cassian says after a minute of silence. “When can I meet them?”

Nesta sucks in her lower lip. “Tonight,” she says slowly. “Come by the house...at seven. That’s a half an hour before bed.” She hesitates. “What...what do you want them to call you?”

“Call me?” he says blankly.

“Yes.”

Cassian still doesn’t look as if he understands.

“Who should I tell them is coming over?” she prompts.

“Er...Cassian...?”

Nesta raises an eyebrow. “You want them to call you Cassian?”

He straightens, rattling the table a bit. “Oh! Oh. I don’t know.” He looks at her, sheepish. “I...I hadn’t really....”

“Look, are you going to be a constant in their live--?”

“Yes,” he says, before she can even finish the sentence. No hesitation, which she’s pleased to hear. It’s what’s best for her children, after all.

“Well, don’t you think they should know you’re their father?” Nesta takes extra care to keep her voice quiet, barely mouthing the last word.

“Well...yes, but I didn’t realize that you were going to tell them so soon....”

“You don’t want me--”

“No! Yes! Sorry,” he says, lowering his voice at her glare. “Yes, I do, I want them to know. Er, they, they call you Mummy? Right?”

Nesta nods once.

“Well...is it all right if they call me...Appa?”

She shrugs her shoulders slightly, keeping her face blank. “Sure.” But she thinks Mummy and Appa sound nice together. It sounds right.

He says, rather tentative, “It means father. In Illyrian.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “I know what it means.”

He smirks a little, and her heart skips a beat as he leans back. “Of course you know.”

She hasn’t seen that look in years. She swallows hard.

“Right. Well.” Nesta clears her throat and takes out some bronze coins, which she puts on the table. “Seven. Don’t be late.” And she leaves before he has the chance to say anything.

* * *

October 21 - 1 year after

Most passengers were asleep as the morning sun rose, coloring the sea beneath them a brilliant, sparkling collage of deep purple and vibrant magenta, but Nesta was wide awake, standing at the bow. Her arms held her shawl tightly around her. It was not yet cold enough for a heavy cloak, but it would be soon, she thought. The continent was colder than the island she had grown up on, on either side of the wall.

Nesta had not seen the continent before that day. She had heard her father’s stories of the wide, sprawling human lands and cities, safe from the ever-looming northern threat of the fae. She had always dreamed of going. Life was better there, for women especially.

But she was not a woman anymore, was she? And nothing could threaten her now.

She knew if she turned around she would be too far away to see Prythian properly, but she did not let herself turn around. She kept her eyes focused ahead on Evisbrooke, the port city of Montesere. A few miles north of Gilameyva, of where she had originally planned to go, when she had seen that flyer in the bar a year ago, but no matter. She was out of Illyria now. That was what mattered.

The ropes on the mast of the ship were golden-brown. The same shade as her sisters’ hair.

She could not think of them. They would be fine. Feyre would understand. She would read her note and understand.

And she would send letters, too. Soon. As soon as she reached Gilameyva. Within the month, surely.

The Monteseren shore grew closer and closer. They’d dock before the pink disappeared from the sky.

And then...she’d be alone.

But she didn’t feel scared. She felt-- _ free _ . Finally, for the first time in her life, really, truly free.

And didn’t that make it all worth it in the end?

* * *

October 15 - 4 years after

Cassian has been circling the Sugar Valley skyline for hours--not that there’s much to look at.

It’s a sleepy town. There’s one bar. One bookstore. A small clinic. A nursery, a school. A few parks.

And yet, Nesta has made her home here. Nesta, who burns brighter than the sun, louder than thunder, whose presence is just so  _ much _ , just so all-encompassing, in this tiny little berry town in Gilameyva.

He had spent the morning--he felt stupid--gathering intel. Listening to the townspeople go about their day and gossip. Nesta’s name had come up a few times, usually along with people he’d come to understand worked alongside her at the bookstore. Zeyn, Adil, Miri, Leyla, Maz. A few others.

And what they say about her is...normal. No fear. Not one mention of that raw, incredible power she had kept locked up inside her. And he hadn’t felt it earlier today, when he had sat across from her. He wonders where it has gone.

She still wears her hair in a coronet...he remembers the few times he has seen it down, perfectly.

Cassian is nearly going out of his mind when he goes back to the inn at six to eat something (he guesses around three times what their usual guests eat; the staff is dumbstruck at his size and his appetite), and he can’t make himself eat slow enough to fill the time.

He decides he can leave at half-past. Perhaps he’ll walk instead of flying....

And he’s there, ten minutes early. So he walks around her little town square, heads back to the neighborhood where the red-roofed houses are, and then he’s walking up the path to her front door, past the toys in the lawn, and then he knocks.

And she answers, and _ again, _ she’s the most beautiful female he’s ever seen, Nesta, and it winds him like it does each time.

And they peek out from behind her legs. They’re all in their nightthings, hair damp from their bath.

“Let’s make room,” Nesta tells them, moving aside so he can come in. She closes the door behind him.

He looks down at her, at the children. They all look up at him. He doesn’t know what to do. Where do his hands go? Oh, he should have brought something, shouldn’t he? Presents? Or flowers, for Nesta? Mother above, what is wrong with him?

“Let’s say hello to Appa,” Nesta says, nudging Ava forward.

She’s so beautiful--all the gods, she looks just like her--

“Hello!” Ava says. And she’s not shy at all, not nervous, not worried. She sounds confident, happy.

He smiles. “Hello, Ava.” He crouches down to look her in the eyes.

She giggles and says something. He can’t understand what it is and looks up at Nesta.

She’s trying to hide a smile. “You’re so big.”

“I--what?”

“Avery says you’re so big.”

“Oh,” he says, and he laughs a bit. “I--yes, I’m very tall.”

He looks at Nicky and Ollie, still firmly behind Nesta’s legs. Nicky laughs when he catches his eye.

“Hi, Nicky,” he says. “Hi, Ollie.”

“Hi,” Nicky says, and he stretches out the vowel.

Ollie doesn’t say anything. Just buries his face harder into Nesta’s shin.

“We’re a little shy,” Nesta murmurs to him. “Don’t worry about it. All right,” she says, louder, “why don’t we go show Appa your toys in the living room?”

Ava smiles sweetly up at him and reaches out her hand. He looks to Nesta before taking it and she leads him out of the foyer.

Nesta’s house looks like exactly like the kind of thing he’d imagine for her--except the clear sign of three children, of course. A plush grey couch with red-and-cream throw pillows, a rounded cherry wood coffee table--no sharp edges, he realizes--with toys lightly strewn around, and various other pieces of furniture in the same color scheme. And of course, an overflowing bookcase.

Ava says something to him, leading him to the couch.

“Do you...understand everything they say?” he asks Nesta, after Ava gets irritated and pushes him to sit down.

Nesta’s lip twitches. “Yes. You will, too. It’s easier than you think. Listen. Avery, what’s that over there?” she asks, pointing to something on the far end of the room.

Avery answers her enthusiastically, and while Cassian’s heart speeds up at her excitement, he still can’t make out what she said.

Nesta looks at Cassian. “Oh, that’s your art project?” she says, nodding at him.

Cassian nods slowly. He thinks he’s beginning to understand--their vowels are all correct, but their consonants are more...loose, he guesses?

“Why don’t you show Appa your art projects?” Nesta says. She pulls Ollie into her lap and whispers something to him.

Nicky and Ava disappear, presumably to get more of these art projects, and sure enough, after a few moments, they’re back, proudly displaying bits of paper glued together, paint patterned here and there, sometimes bits of dried foods or rocks or leaves tied on as well.

They chatter non-stop, it seems--Ava, most, Nicky eagerly following her lead, but Ollie remains quiet, sitting on Nesta’s lap, occasionally pulling her head down to whisper to her.

He can barely make out what they’re saying, but he is doing a better job, fifteen minutes in, than he was when he started, and he understands perfectly when Olli says quietly, “Appa come to bed?” He looks up at Nesta and then looks at him.

Nesta’s eyes echo in his face, but with such _ innocence _ . And he called him father; the first time any of them has done so...he can’t bring himself to answer.

“Yes,” Nesta says. “Appa will come tuck you into bed. Did you want to show him something of yours, Ollie?”

Ollie shakes his head, but Cassian doesn’t care. His heart is soaring and breaking at the same time.

“All right,” Nesta says, too soon. “Time for bed. Let’s go.”

She keeps Ollie in her arms as she makes her way up the stairs. Ava and Nicky each grab a hand of his and show him the way.

Nicky speaks. Cassian thinks he understands. “You all sleep with a roo?” he says.

“In one room!”

“Oh, in one room, you all sleep in one room.”

Nesta looks over her shoulder. “For now,” she says. “It’s easier. And they like it this way. But we can rearrange the rooms when they’re older. The house is big enough.”

The house feels dwarfed with him inside, and he’s only one full-grown Illyrian male. Plus, he doesn’t like to think of neither Nesta nor the triplets staying here until they’re old enough to want their own rooms, so he doesn’t say anything.

The children’s beds are the same style; in a dark cherry wood like the bookcase and the coffee table downstairs, but the sheets are different. Ava’s in a deep violet, Nicky’s in a royal blue, and Ollie’s in a slate grey Nesta always favored with her gowns.

Night Court colors. And he can’t resist. “I like your bedsheets,” he says to them.

“Mummy let us pick!” Ava says, beaming at him.

He beams back. It feels like proof of his mark on them.

But Nesta doesn’t appear to notice. “Let’s get in bed,” she says.

“My turn to pick,” Nicky says.

“I want to!”

“Avery, you picked last night. It’s Nicky’s turn.” Nesta looks at Cassian. “We do a story before bed. We rotate turns.”

“I want Appa to tell a story,” Nicky says.

Cassian keeps his face blank. “I don’t...think that’s a good idea,” Cassian says under his breath.

Cassian did not grow up with a mother who told him stories, and none of the one's he made for himself are one he thinks Nesta would appreciate the children hearing.

She understands. “Maybe another night. I’m telling the story tonight.”

Nicky says, “Tomorrow?”

Nesta shakes her head. “Tomorrow.” She looks at Cassian, then mouths,  _ That means the future _ . She smiles a little--at  _ him _ .

He smiles back.

“I want Jack,” Nicky says, yawning.

Nesta sits down across the children in their beds, and Cassian carefully sits down next to her. He watches her face as she tells them to story, watches her smile a bit before they laugh, because she knows when they’re going to. Watches the way she extends her neck ever so slightly when he talks....

Mother, all these things about her...he’d missed them so much. He’d missed her so much. And now, now she was standing up to tuck the children in, and soon he’d have to go, wouldn’t he? And he’d miss her all over again.

But Cassian doesn’t think about that as he stands up. Nesta looks so comfortable bending down and giving each child a kiss, each a little different--she calls Ava ladybug, she tickles Nicky’s stomach, she whispers something to Ollie. And then she moves over to the door and looks at him.

His mouth goes dry. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. And then she waves her hand over to the children and he slowly, slowly approaches Ava’s bed.

“Good night, Ava,” he whispers.

“Good night, Appa,” she says. She smiles up at him.

Feeling everything in the air, he bends down to kiss the top of her head.

Warmth radiates from her tiny body. Her hair is so soft, her skin too, and he wants to crush her against him, suddenly, and he hates himself for this being the first time, and he moves quickly to Nicky’s bed before he does something he shouldn’t. But then it’s the same with Nicky, and the same with Ollie, and his throat is burning when he and Nesta leave the room.

She leads him into the kitchen and sits down at the head of the table.

“So,” she says.

“Thank you,” he says, before she can say anything else. “Thank you--Nesta--so much--”

“All right,” she says, looking rather alarmed. “That’s...all right.” She hesitates. “You...were fine.”

“I was so nervous.”

“I know. But they...were excited. When I told them that you were coming.”

“Were they...did they ask why I hadn’t...”

“No,” she says. “They will. One day. But they’re little. They don’t understand. So you don’t have to worry about that conversation for a few years.” Nesta falls silent. There’s something she wants to say but doesn’t.

Cassian takes a deep breath. “Thank you so much for letting me come.”

Nesta looks at him wearily. “I said it’s all right.”

He almost snorts. That’s Nesta’s way of saying you’re welcome, he supposes. “I will bring good into their lives. I promise.”

Nesta looks away as she nods. “I know. Otherwise I wouldn’t let you come.”

He takes a deep breath. “Well. I think that having more people who love them is always a good thing.”

At this Nesta looks at him. She looks relieved. “Yes, I think so too.”

He smiles slightly. “You agree?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t smile, exactly, but she looks almost happy.

“You’ll bring them to Velaris? To visit?”

Nesta starts. “What? No, that’s not what I meant!”

Cassian looks at her in disbelief. “Then what did you mean?”

Nesta bites her lip. “I meant...you. In addition to Sugar Valley.”

“Well, I meant your sisters,” he says, and she flinches. “And my brothers,” he adds, which he guesses was not the smartest thing to say by her low, unamused laugh.

“Look,” he says, before she can, “having the High Lord and Lady of Night care for your children is something every parents should want.”

“My children are Gilameyvan. High Lords and Ladies mean nothing here. Our councilhead cares for them just fine.”

“Well, they are your sisters. And they love you. And they’re--sorry.”

Nesta closes her eyes tightly. “Enough.”

“They want to see you,” he says, his words rushed. “And the children, and make sure you’re okay, and they’ve got my blood same as your so it’s only fair that they meet my family too.” He blurts the last bit out.

Nesta opens her eyes, and _ there’s _ the blazing power.

But after a moment, it’s gone. Just like that.

“I am not taking the children to Velaris,” she says through gritted teeth. “Or anywhere in Prythian.”

_ Or Illyria,  _ she means. He forces himself to stay calm. Nesta has been badly hurt and is obviously not going to bring the children to the Night Court tomorrow.

“Your sisters want to visit,” he says, knowing it’s true. “Elain cried.” He hopes that’ll strike Nesta in the same place it would years ago.

Perhaps it does, because she shuts her eyes tightly again. “I said no.”

“Will you think about it?”

“No,” she says, but he knows she’s lying. It’ll be all she’ll think about tonight, and for that he feels rather guilty.

“I didn’t mean to upset you further,” he says. “I really...I only want what’s best for all of you.”

“Do you remember what I said?” Her temper is rising. “I decide what is best.”

“I remember,” he says. “Just. Decide correctly.”

Nesta sucks in a breath. “You can leave now.”

“Sweetheart, please--”

“ _ Do not call me that _ \--”

“I’m sorry! Please, I’m sorry,” he says desperately. “I don’t want to end this arguing. Please, we’ve had a good day, haven’t we?” His children called him Appa, so it’s damn near the best in his life.

Actually, it probably is.

“Well, maybe we should quit while we’re ahead.”

“Okay,” he says, quietly. “I’ll go. But remember...” he swallows. “No matter what you decide...Ava and Nicky and Ollie will always be considered of the Night Court.”

Nesta flinches.

“That grants them Rhys’ protection,” he says softly. “That’s a good thing.”

“I can protect them.”

“But this is more.”

“Well, they also inherit all Rhysand’s enemies, did you ever think about that?”

Now he flinches. Yes, he had. How many cities has he razed, his own people destroyed, all while knowing the only person who would answer for it was him? And now....

“All the more reason to keep them better protected,” Cassian finally says. “Enemies won’t care if you hate Rhys or not.”

Nesta is quiet. “Don’t you dare bring them here. Ever.”

“I won’t,” he says, heart sinking. “But....”

“Not now. You should go.”

Perhaps the devastation he feels is pathetically written on his face, because Nesta softens almost imperceptibly and says, tone just a bit gentle, “You can...come by tomorrow. At five. We’ll be here.”

Cassian looses a breath he doesn’t remember holding. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Do not tell them about their...your family.”

“I won’t. What if they ask?”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “They’re three. They won’t ask. Avery and Ollie only just realized I have a name other than Mummy and they still can’t always remember what it is.”

It’s so unexpected, he laughs out loud. A real laugh. And her mouth wavers.

Not a smile. He knows how hard he’ll have to work for that.

But he did it before. He can do it again--he has to.

He will.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was chapter three! Please let me know what you thought in the comments, and remember you can follow along by clicking subscribe or mark for later or bookmark.  
Chapter four will be up by next Thursday, the 29.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments. Also, thanks so much for all the kudos--I hit over 100!!  
Enjoy this chapter:)

October 19 - 4 years after

When Cassian arrives back in Velaris, Elain has already made up her mind to go and she wants to be prepared. So she pounces on him first.

“How is she?” she asks him when he returns. “Is she very angry? Is she in good health? What about the children? What are their names? How old are they?”

“Give him a minute, Elain,” Rhys says gently, but she ignores him. She has not spoken to her brother-in-law for three days, in solidarity with her elder sister.

“What did she say?” Elain presses.

Cassian’s voice is weak in a way Elain has never heard before. “She’s...all right. They’re all all right.”

He sits down on one of the big armchairs, letting his wings rest.

“Just all right?” Elain says, sitting down on the couch next to him. “There must be something else. Is she working at that bookstore, then?”

“Elain,” Mor says. “Maybe we can ask him later, after he’s rested and eaten.”

Elain bites her lip. Lashing out is against all laws of propriety and her nature besides, but she’s felt bottled up with anger and pain for the past three days, and she has no outlet.

Luckily Cassian spares her the struggle. “It’s fine. I understand. Yes, she works at a bookstore. The children are three,” and here his voice cracks along with Elain’s heart. “Two boys and a girl.”

“What are their names?” Feyre says softly, sitting down next to Elain. She puts her hand on her knee, to share comfort along with their pain.

“The girl is called Ava. Avery. And Nicky...Nicholas. And Ollie.”

Elain’s eyes start to blur with tears when he says the girl’s name, and she lets out a sob when he says the last one.

Feyre is crying too. “Ollison,” she says, gasping. “Oh, Nesta.”

After their father. Elain had not realized....

But of course. Of course she had been hiding that as well.

“I want to see her,” she says, blurting out the words.

“I know,” he says. He doesn’t meet her eyes. “I’m sure you both want to. But...she has a life. And I’ve already upheaved enough.”

“What does that mean?” Feyre says.

“I asked about you,” he says, and he does look at Feyre when he speaks to her. “She...doesn’t want you to visit just yet.”

Elain feels her heart clench.

“She doesn’t want to see us? She said that?” Feyre’s voice sounds as despaired as Elain feels.

“Not just yet,” he says, and his tone is apologetic, guilty. “It’s a shock, I think. I sprung up on her. She didn’t know I was coming. And now you two...I think she’ll feel attacked. I’m sorry.”

Feyre nods slowly, but Elain can’t believe what she’s hearing.

“I’m going.”

Now Cassian turns to her.

“Elain...”

“No. I don’t care. I’m going. She’s my sister and I want to see her. She can be upset but she can’t keep me out forever. We’ll talk. She can be angry. But we’ll talk and it’ll be fine.” She sounds desperate, she knows, but she is. “I’m going.”

“She doesn’t want that right now,” Cassian says wearily.

“She’ll manage,” Elain says, and it’s not a snap, but it’s very close. She sees Mor and Rhys exchange a glance.

Elain stands up. “I’m going. I have to. You should understand that.” She stares Cassian in the eye. “If you had waited a second longer, I would have gone with you three days ago.”

He nods reluctantly. “I understand, but she said she didn’t want you to come.”

“I don’t care,” she says firmly. Nesta is hurt. But she can’t just cut Elain out forever. She can’t, because what is Elain supposed to do without her big sister forever?

She knows Nesta. She’s never going to forgive her enough to invite her herself unless Elain pushes a bit. And Elain pushing...well, that isn’t Amren or Rhys pushing. From her it comes only with love. Nesta knows that. She  _ has _ to.

And perhaps Cassian does, because he looks over at Azriel who says, “I’ll take you.”

“Thank you,” she says, but she’s not looking at him. She’s looking at Amren, who hasn’t said anything since Cassian came back and is now pointedly staring outside.

“All right, then,” she says, settling back down. She musters a smile. “Tell us what our niece and nephews are like.”

Her smile turns effortless when Cassian’s face turns brilliant, younger, lighter. “Oh,” he says, and his voice is that of a different male as he tells them.

* * *

October 23 - 1 year after

Montesere had no charms. The land was flat and boring, at least in the region Nesta was in. The people didn’t smile, either--or perhaps just not at her, perhaps out of fear. Though for some reason, Nesta felt it was more suspicion.

She had enough to spend a few weeks in a nice inn, and decided to find a less-than-nice one in order to save money, but she drew the line at sharing a room. Itchy sheets and lukewarm water she could handle, but she wasn’t anywhere near the vicinity of trust or peace of mind required to live with a stranger, even for a few days.

She couldn’t even live with her sisters. Or...anyone.

She had originally planned to wait until she reached Gilameyva to send a letter, but wandering around a pawnshop, she found herself struck with a wave of homesickness. No, that couldn’t be what it was--Prythian was not her home, and she did not miss living South of the Wall. She only missed being human.

And her sisters too, she supposed. She guessed she missed them. Which was odd, because she didn’t think she had missed them all her time in Illyria.

That was the difference. She had been  _ kept _ in Illyria, she had _ chosen _ to cross the sea.

So as she sold an old locket she never liked, she bought some paper and ink and asked the male at the desk where she could send post. 

That night, after a quiet dinner alone in her room, she sat by the small side table and stared at the paper before her.

She could feel her cheeks redden. Guilt or shame or something else, she didn’t know. But she didn’t know what to write.

She didn’t want to address her note. She didn’t even want to address her leaving.

_ Coward _ , she thought to herself, and made up her mind:

_ Dear Elain and Feyre, _

_ I’m well. I’ve made it to Montesere. It’s boring landscape. The sea is lovely, though. I can hear it from my room late at night when it’s quiet. _

_ I won’t be staying here for long. I’d like to head farther South. _

Here she paused.  _ The sea is lovely _ ...small talk. Ridiculous. These were her sisters. Sure, she had never truly opened up to them, but she had come close, a few times. And they deserved more than this, didn’t they? So she continued:

_ I know you must be worried. You needn’t be. I’m all right. _

_ I’m sorry if my leaving hurt you. I was drowning. I hope you can understand. _

That part was more for Feyre. Because she would understand, wouldn’t she? Being locked up?

Nesta read her letter over a few more times. There wasn’t a lot written, but she couldn’t think of anything to say, so she just signed it  _ Love always, Nesta _ .

That would have to do for now.

October 19 - 4 years after

Even though Cassian left yesterday, Nesta can still feel his presence in her home. And she knows that even though she hadn’t seen him for four years, nothing between them had changed...and yet, everything is different.

It’s the same because he’s still there, under her skin and in the back of her mind, his presence haunting her like ghosts of her past and taunts of her future all at once. And it isn’t because--well--she’s got her children to think of, doesn’t she? And the fact that he never wrote her back.

After their talk, she did not dare ask why he had not read her letters, too scared to learn the reason. Mercifully, he did not ask why she hadn’t written after they were born or why she did not come back to Prythian.

She’s not ready to have that conversation, but it had loomed over the course of his stay.

He left yesterday, with promises to return in three days.

She tells all this to Miri at work, in hushed tones, hidden between the shelves of the non-fiction section.

“And were they sad to see him go?” she asks.

“I think they were a bit upset at first, but we told them he’d come back with gifts before the weekend,” Nesta says.

“And you?” Miri says gently.

“And I what?”

“Were you sad?”

Nesta pauses her re-shelving. “I was...not sad,” she says, voice soft. “I know he’ll be back. And I wouldn’t miss him anyway.”

“Nesta, it’s all right,” Miri says. “You can tell me what you feel.”

“It’s been too long to miss him,” Nesta lies. “I don’t want to open all that up again, anyway.”

But watching him with the children, Nesta couldn’t help thinking of what could have been. How co-parenting for the past three years might have worked. She loves having the last word, making all the decisions herself, all the pride going to her. But what would it have been like to have someone to share the burden of Ollie’s chronic coughing with as a newborn? Someone to take on the role of child-rearer alongside her. Not a friend helping her out, but someone who lived with her, whom the children equated with her.

_ Zeyn would have done that _ , she thinks, and shoves the thought away.

She knows she’s being ridiculous, anyway. She left Prythian because Cassian could not be her future. She was not his priority and in the end he wasn’t hers. They weren’t enough for each other and they couldn’t make it work. Of course her children ended up being the most immeasurable happiness she ever could have received, but she did not plan or want a pregnancy four years ago, certainly not with Cassian.

Nostalgia is rose-colored, she guesses.

“Have you told anyone else?” Miri says.

“Just Amorette,” Nesta says. “She’s coming over tonight after the children go to bed.”

“Good.” Miri nods, and doesn’t mention Zeyn, for which Nesta is grateful.

Amorette is Nesta’s closest friend in Gilameyva, a healer who treated Nesta during her pregnancy and then delivered her children.

She has barely had time to see her these past three days, much less talk and try to sort herself aloud, and that’s another thing she’s upset about.

She hides enough from Amorette, Adil, Miri, and Zeyn without her past creeping into their lives. She feels guilty and dishonest, especially when Zeyn grins broadly at her and asks her when she’s going to let him come over for dinner.

“Or did you think I hadn’t noticed you’d been keeping me out?” he teases.

Nesta ignores the twist of her insides. “Now’s not a good time,” she says, focusing on the piles of books in front of her.

“I know what it is,” Zeyn says, and his voice isn’t joking. It’s soft, and he comes up behind her to wrap her in a hug.

“You’re worried about Chokecherry, aren’t you?” he says.

Nesta’s glad he’s behind her, head buried in her neck, so he can’t see her flinch when she hears his concern and feels his kiss.

“Yes,” she says, swallowing the vile feeling. “It’s money I need, Zeyn.”

Shutting him out, lying to him about shutting him out, and even lying to him about money now that she knows it is no longer a concern might not have bothered her when she first came North of the Wall. But now she’s almost normal, happy in her home, and this isn’t who she is. Especially not where Zeyn is concerned.

“I’ll help you,” he says, his voice slightly muffled against her shoulder. “You know that...we’ll all help you. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” Nesta says. Because she knows he believes that and for now that’s enough. She doesn’t need to think about how  _ she  _ knows it isn’t true.

Cassian lives in the skies, but she’s always associated him more with the ocean: relentless, ever-moving, ever-pushing forward, useless to fight against. And she knows she’s going to drown.

* * *

October 1 - Year of

He had gone again, to another camp. Whether or not it was the same one he had been to last time she did not know, but he had said he might be a bit longer this time. She didn’t want to waste anytime. She left the house shortly after he did.

She glared at the chocolate bar still waiting on the kitchen table. He was so infuriating sometimes.

Nesta didn’t quite know where she was going, but her feet lead her to the bar. She supposed it was hopeless to go inside.

Her head was, as always, pounding. The pain in her blood and bones would not clear. She needed a drink. She needed a distraction. She needed...a _ job _ .

She started as the thought hit her. A job. With a paycheck. She could afford passage to Gilameyva. She could support herself. She could  _ leave _ .

But where was she going to find one? She knew the barmale wouldn’t hire her, out of fear of Cassian’s retribution. There were the shops...she was good with numbers. She could bookkeep, she was sure.

But there was no point of even asking. The shopkeepers were all scared of her. She saw a h _ elp wanted _ sign inside on of the clothing stores and stepped inside, and a hush fell over the place. No one met her eyes, and when the salesgirl approached her to ask if she needed help, Nesta could smell her anxiety.

(Another thing she hated about herself--smelling emotions was beyond bizarre. It felt unnatural. And it made it that much harder to keep her own secrets.)

So not a store. Or at least, not one here. There were some smaller shops, pressed deeper into the mountains, she thought. She had seen people with bags she hadn’t recognized coming from the wrong directions. So maybe there.

She had to. She couldn’t stay here. Not with him. She’d die first.

* * *

October 19 - 4 years after

Her first glimpse of Sugar Valley is not what she expected. A quiet berry-township with no discernible nightlife. Not even a bar, as far as she can tell.

“I can’t believe Netsa’s been living here,” Azriel says, mostly to himself.

“I know,” Elain says. “It’s so...small.”

“All the berry-towns are,” he says.

“No, I don’t mean the size. I mean...a small town. Small people. Small lives. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she says hurriedly. “It’s just...it reminds me a bit of where we grew up, and I always thought Nesta would change the world. Move to the Continent and make a name for herself.”

Azriel smiles. “She has moved to the Continent and made a name for herself.” His voice is almost teasing, and Elain allows herself a moment to enjoy the warmth that spreads through her. He only takes that tone with her.

“I guess I mean if I had to guess which of my sisters would be ruling a country, it would have been Nesta.”

Azriel doesn’t answer for a few seconds, and at first she thinks it’s because he’s upset. He is, after all, loyal to his High Lady. But then he says, “I don’t think she would like that.”

Elain frowns. “Well, you barely know Nesta at all.” She doesn’t mean to sound so sharp.

But Azriel doesn’t take offense, and his tone is as gentle as ever. “I don’t mean that you don’t care for her,” he says. “I only mean...she did choose this. She chose Sugar Valley. So...she must like a small town.”

Elain tugs at her hair. “Perhaps,” she says, quietly.

She hates to think there are parts of Nesta others have noticed that she hasn’t. She suddenly feels a strong possessive feeling. She has never had to share Nesta before. She had been all hers, then she had been no one’s, now she belongs to three small children Elain has never met and Gilameyvan fae and maybe Cassian and who knows who else?

But Elain doesn’t like the jealousy inside her. It’s not like her.

“Why are you so anxious?” Azriel asks her.

“ _ Why _ am I so anxious?” She looks at him in disbelief, but he waits patiently for a reply. She sighs. “Because I don’t know if I’ll recognize her. Maybe I lost her. Maybe she’s too different.”

Azriel takes a step closer. She shivers.

“You’re both different,” he says. “People change. But you’ll still move in sync. She loved you too much to have lost that.”

She smiles slightly at him. “Let’s hope so,” she says.

He takes an abrupt step back. “Are you sure you don’t want me to escort you farther,” he says, his tone more formal, showing less emotion.

He does that, still. When they get too close, too comfortable.

“No, thank you,” she says.

Nesta doesn’t want her and Feyre to visit, Cassian said. She doesn’t know what her reaction to Azriel at her door would be, but she’s certain nothing good. 

“I’ll wait here, then,” he says.

“Thank you,” she says, and she smiles at him again before turning in the direction Cassian had instructed her to.

The town really is quite small, and before long, she reaches a collection of houses that all have the same general look: white or grey or blue, with red roofs. Some two-stories, some bungalows, all relatively small. Elain doubts anyone has more than what they need...but perhaps they like it that way.

Nesta’s lawn is mostly neat, with more wild bloodroot than proper grass. She has her own sugarberry tree. There are some toys scattered here and there.

And she keeps a rose bush by her porch. That makes Elain smile. A rosebush demands care; it can’t be left to grow wild. It looks well-kept, and she loves the idea of Nesta taking care of it.

She supposes Nesta takes care of lots of things she never used to before.

With the white door in front of her, Elain figures there’s no point in dawdling. So she knocks.

Nesta must know it’s her before she opens the door, because Elain only has to wait a moment before she appears before her, shutting it quickly behind her.

Elain sucks in a breath.  _ Nesta.  _ Alive, breathing, beautiful. And angry.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses, brilliant grey eyes storming. 

“Nesta,” she says, for she cannot bring herself to say anything else. “Oh, Nesta!” And she throws herself on her sister, squeezing her tightly in a hug.

“ _ Elain _ \--”

But Elain isn’t interested in hearing her protests. It’s been too long since she felt her warm curves (now more rounded than they once were), breathed in her distinct floral scent. “Oh, Nesta, you’re all right!”

“Get off of me,” Nesta says, but she does not push her away.

Excellent. Despite her fuming, her pain, she is happy to see her too.

“I have missed you every single day,” she says, determined not to cry as she does so. “Every second.” She breaks away to look into Nesta’s eyes.

As usual, they betray nothing.

Elain isn’t bothered, though. She knows how deeply Nesta feels; she simply hides it all. Elain has known this her whole life. Others think her cold, distant, but Elain knows how brightly Nesta burns and she has always felt the fire.

“And I am so sorry,” she says, slowly, meaning each word, staring her right in the eye.

At this Nesta looks away. “Elain....”

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” she says briskly. Nesta doesn’t want to address it now, and that’s fine. They have forever to talk. They’re together now, and that’s what matters. That has to be what matters. “I want to meet my niece and nephews.” She smiles.

Nesta’s eyes dart back to Elain’s and narrow. “That’s what this is about?”

Elain’s smile does not waver. Her sister is terrifying, she knows, but she has no reason to fear. This is Nesta, who has taken care of her her entire life. “Of course not. I would come for you regardless. But since you have them...” Elain trails off.

She has grown strong. She is not so afraid anymore, of herself, of the world Feyre brought them into. Of being alone. She wants to show Nesta.

Nesta breathes deeply. “I told...I said I don’t want them meeting any of you...just yet,” she adds rather hastily, when she sees the hurt in Elain’s eyes.

“You’re punishing us?” she asks, devastated.

“Elain, please. Don’t be so dramatic. I don’t want to overwhelm them.”

“I know it will take time to forgive me, and Feyre too, but please. Please, Nesta, we love you so much, you know that. Just let me see them. I’ll help you. I’ll move here.”

“You are not moving to Sugar Valley.”

“Well, I doubt you’ll move back to the Night Court just yet.”

Nesta lets out a sound of disbelief. “Do you think!”

“So I will stay here,” Elain says. She knows Nesta is hurt, and she has every right to be, but this cannot be unforgivable. Nesta has loved her too much, all her life, to cut her out completely, when she is standing before her and begging.

“Elain,” she says, moving closer a bit, and lowering her voice. “I have a life here. A home. Do you understand that?”

Elain does not wince at her tone. She can read her sister better than anything. “I know,” she says. “I want to be part of it. I want to be in your life. All your lives.”

Nesta bites her tongue, and  _ that _ makes Elain’s heart sink.

Because all the venom from her sister was towards Cassian, she knew. Because her sister would not have let herself do anything to potentially sabotage her children’s future, and Elain presented her with an outlet for some of it. But biting her tongue...to hide what she wanted to throw at  _ Elain _ . Venom Elain deserved. 

Even in her righteous anger, Nesta still protected her sister. Even from herself.

“I love you, Nesta,” she says, ever patient. “Please let me in.”

She reaches out a hand and takes Nesta’s in her own. She rubs her thumb over the back, like Nesta would do years ago, when they were young and came to their older sister, frightened of storms or darkness.

“Elain. I said no.” And she takes her hand back, folding her arms. Her eyes dull, tired more than anything else.

Elain’s face falls with her heart again. This she did not expect. Nesta does not always let her in, but she lets her be by her side, always.

Was it too much? Is she to be exiled from her elder sister’s life forever? Not for the first time, Elain curses herself for agreeing with Feyre’s miserably executed, if well-intentioned, plan.

“I don’t understand,” she says, and her voice is a whisper in an attempt to hide the pain.

“You don’t have children,” Nesta says, and she is almost gentle as she replies.

With a jerk backwards, Elain realizes something.

Out of the three of them, she is the only one who thinks of herself as sister first.

Feyre is a mate. Nesta is a mother. Elain is a sister.

To two females who have their own lives.

_ This is not about you _ , she tells herself.

“How long do I have to wait,” she says, stumbling over the words and fighting to keep her voice even.

Nesta sighs, and Elain feels guilty and a burden and sorry, so sorry. Sorry she let her leave, sorry she didn’t get over her hurt and read the letters, sorry she did not chase after her, and sorry she came.

“You don’t want me here,” she says, her voice broken.

Perhaps she is not strong. Perhaps nothing has changed for her.

“Just some time, Elain,” Nesta is saying. “Are you...do you have a place to stay? I can....”

But Elain does not listen. Because she has failed and everything is wrong and sometimes you can feed your soil and sow your seeds but it does not matter because there is no rain.

This  _ cannot  _ be irreversible. This  _ cannot  _ be forever. Because forever means something now, and it cannot exist without Nesta.

She may not be strong. But she knows who is. One of the strongest people she knows. Someone she is lucky to love as much as she loves Nesta.

“I’m coming back tomorrow,” she says, determined. And she pulls Nesta in for another hug before turning on her heel and leaving.

She perhaps is not as resilient as Nesta or steadfast as Feyre, but she loves them. Forever. And that might not be as impressive a strength, but it’s what she has, and she will not give up. On either of her sisters. They will be together again. Because she is a  _ sister _ .

And, she realizes, she is an aunt.

And that’s a new and wonderful thing to think of herself as. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to be a bit mysterious there at the end, in regards to who Elain is going to bring, but I think it's obvious.  
I'm sure a bunch of you will have missed the kids this chapter! Don't worry, we'll see them a lot next one.  
Next chapter will be up this coming Tuesday. In the meantime, please let me know what you thought of this one!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So from what I gather y'all are hardcore Nesta stans and were not cool with Elain going against her wishes. I love that! I really thought I was alone in my all-consuming love for Nesta. She's my wife.  
Anyway, I'm pretty sure this chapter will be a bit more popular...I mentioned this on my Tumblr a few times, and I'd like to say it here: you guys can trust me with Nesta. I'm on her side, all the way.  
Thank you all so much for your support! Enjoy!

October 19 - 4 years after

Nesta finds herself rather anxious as her dinner date with Amorette approaches. Her children pick up on this and ask her several times what is wrong, and she hates feeling like she’s hiding something from them, so she decides to take them to the park so they can run around.

After donning them in their jackets and boots, Nesta herds them all out the door to the direction of their favorite park. Ava leads the way, holding Nicky’s hand and chatting with him as Nesta and Ollie trail behind.

“Did you see Ramil at nursery today?” Nesta asks him.

“Yes,” he says.

“And did you play with him?”

“Yes.”

“What did you play?”

“We colored.”

“You colored? Together?”

“Yes.”

“Together at the table or together on the same paper?”

“Together at the table.”

“Good waiting, Avery, Nicky,” she calls ahead to them, as they wait at the curb for her to arrive so they can cross the street. Sugar Valley is almost comically safe, but there are some things she’ll never get used to, and letting the children cross the street alone and leaving her door unlocked are some of them. “Well, did you talk to him while you were coloring?”

“Yes.”

Nesta supposes that she once might have likened talking to Ollie to pulling teeth, but she’s different now, and she finds his shyness rather endearing. She adores Avery’s outgoingness, as well. She feels as though everything they do becomes them, and she smiles as she gently prods, “And what did you talk about?”

“About the colors.”

Nesta almost laughs. Of course the three-year-old wouldn’t have much to say about his and his mother’s recent move to Sugar Valley, but she tries again regardless. “Well, do you ever talk to him about where he came from? Or his mummy?”

“Sometimes,” Ollie says, shrugging. They reach his siblings, and he takes Nicky’s hand so they can all cross the street together.

“What does he say?”

“That his old nursery didn’t have any good green colors.”

“I see,” Nesta says, fighting off another smile. “Good thing he’s here with us now, then.”

“Ramil’s my friend, too,” Avery says.

“Also mine. And I was not coloring with him, but I was coloring with him yesterday, and today I was with Oz....”

Nicky and Avery talk about their day till they reach the park, and Nesta does not mind that she’s heard this relayed to her before, or that every day since they started nursery has been roughly the same. She’s very much relieved to hear that neither their father’s arrival nor his departure has psychologically scarred the children in any way. She doesn’t even think they’ve mentioned it to their friends--nothing their teacher has overheard, anyway.

When they arrive at the park, they see their friend Emilia already there, and Avery and Nicky run to her, pulling Ollie along with them. Nesta sits down next to Classia, Emilia’s mother, on a bench.

“Been a while,” Classia greets her. She’s from Prythian originally, and her accent is so similar to Nesta’s own it sometimes makes her feel the slightest bit...nostalgic? She is never entirely sure.

But now, of course, it only makes her think of Cassian and her sisters.

“I’ve been busy at the shop,” she says. She’s eager to draw the conversation away from herself, though, and says, “I heard you got a new collection.”

Classia runs a small boutique in town, with styles from the City.

“Oh, yes, for the winter,” she says, always excited to gush about her clothes.

Nesta tries to keep herself engaged in what Classia is saying, but she isn’t doing a very good job, her mind only on meeting Amorette later tonight. She’s near-desperate to talk to her friend, but she feels that it will make it more real, and she doesn’t want that.

So it feels all too soon and long-awaited, when it’s time for them to leave the park and head back home. Then it’s dinner and baths for the children and she’s tucking them into bed when she hears a soft knock on her door.

Most Gilameyvan residents let themselves in everywhere. Amorette always knocks.

She whispers one last goodnight--only Nicky is conscious enough to sleepily say it back--before closing the door behind her and making her way to the front door.

“Thanks for coming, I know you’re busy,” Nesta says, ushering her in.

“Of course,” Amorette says, her voice as low and smooth as always.

“Come into the living room. Let me get the food.”

Nesta brings out the pot of pasta she’s made and a bottle of wine.

“All right,” she says, pouring out two glasses. She takes a sip and closes her eyes. The wine spreads a warmth through her in a way it hadn’t four years ago.

She doesn’t drink very often now, and hardly ever anything very strong, and she doesn’t spend her time wishing she could. She had gone very long without any, and then she had been pregnant with triplets. And then given birth. All that together did a good job of helping to dissipate her desire and destroy her tolerance.

“All right,” she says again, putting her glass down. She takes a deep breath.

Amorette doesn’t say anything. She sits there, blue eyes thoughtful and patient.

“My children’s father showed up on my doorstep five days ago.”

Amorette’s eyes widen, but she composes herself almost instantly. “Did they see him?”

“Yes,” she says. She huffs a laugh. “They asked if he was their neighbor.”

Amorette smiles slightly. “And what did you say?”

“I told them to go inside. He asked if he could meet them. I...told him he could. He came the next day and for the next two days. Then he left to the Night Court. He said he’d be back within a few days.”

Amorette takes a sip of her wine. “And how are you holding up?”

“I don’t know.”

Amorette merely waits.

“I feel...I don’t know. He says he wants to be a part of their lives. Our lives. I don’t know...I don’t know. I don’t want to...start that again. I don’t care if he’s their father.” She regrets the words even as she says them, but she knows Amorette knows.

“There’s one thing I never understood,” she says. Composed and even, no matter what Nesta throws at her. “Did you ever tell him you were pregnant?”

And there is Nesta’s only part of her tale she never lets herself think about, for a variety of reasons. “No.”

And she doesn’t want to confront that, either.

“I’m a mess,” Nesta says.

“Tell me,” Amorette says.

And she does. Sorting her thoughts, her feelings. Amorette’s the first person she really did that with. Nesta’s not entirely sure what it is Amorette gets out of their friendship, but she’s immensely grateful to have her.

She finds herself smiling softly as she tells her of Cassian talking to Avery. “She’s just...she’s always reminded me of him. And even though--”

She stops. Tilts her head. And then leaps off the couch.

“Stay here,” she says, nearly hissing.

She’s at the door in seconds and rips it open, shutting it behind her.

“What are you doing here?”

For on her doorstep is another person from her past. One she used to desperately wish would turn up, years ago.

Elain. Beautiful, sweet Elain.

Even as her anger clouds her vision, her heart clenches.  _ Elain. _

* * *

October 5 - Year of

It had been a few days since he’d been gone, and the chocolate still sat untouched on the kitchen table. She glared at it every morning when she left.

She didn’t really go anywhere. Just wandered around. Sometimes aimless, her mind blank. Sometimes vaguely taking in the Steppes, the mountains. Never thinking of her sisters, of him. Not until she got back to his house, at least. In bed, at night.

Today she was wondering about the wind. She knew logically that the mountains were windier than the plains, but as she had never lived above sea-level before, she hadn’t really felt its impact. It was early October and it was already getting cold enough for her to need a heavier coat.

She didn’t really mean to go, but she found herself in front of the shops tucked further into the mountains, the ones she had suspected existed but not quite known where they were. She had found them a few days ago and had not gone inside. They didn’t look much different than the ones in the center of the camp, but she knew there must have been something. Perhaps poorer owners? She wasn’t sure.

There was a clothier place, wooden, and it looked newer than the others. There were a few coats on display--nothing very fashionable, but she supposed it didn’t matter. Especially considering she didn’t have any money on her.

Or at all.

A small bell rang as she opened the door. The store was warm, wonderfully so, and the glass and walls were strong enough that she didn’t even hear the winds outside.

There were three males inside, talking to a female. Their conversation didn’t stop when they heard her enter or scented her, which was odd. Normally her presence silenced Illyrians.

With one maddeningly irritating exception, of course.

Nesta inched forward slightly, careful not to move too much. It had been a long while since she had been anonymous or unseen in public. She rather missed it...and she was curious as to what they were talking about, what was so engrossing they had not noticed the Commander’s witch come in.

“...not exactly fit in with the rest of the camp,” one of the males was saying. Nesta did not know his voice, but his tone was all-too familiar. Condescending and mocking, masquerading as logical.

“I said, are you threatening me? I want an answer.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. The female looked slight, and the males each looked two or three times her size, for one thing, and for another, this was Illyria. Females did not generally hold their heads high and stare down or speak so brazenly to any male, let alone three.

“Now, why would you think that?” another said, and something inside Nesta flickered. There was the condescension again. Once that would have sent her into a near-rage. Perhaps she was too used to it, numb to that like she was to everything else.

But not entirely. Some part of that fire was still there, just an ember, maybe, because the female said, “I want you out of my shop.”

And the first male said, “I don’t appreciate your wording, girl.”

And then Nesta said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Her first words to anyone since speaking to that barmale a few days ago. She guessed the words alone weren’t anything special in particular, but there was power in her voice again,  _ feeling _ .

The males agreed, she thought, because they all whipped around, their wings nearly knocking each other over.

Color leached out of their faces when they saw her. The one who had not spoken made a motion with hands Nesta had figured out was an Illyrian symbol to ward off evil.

“I like to shop in peace,” she said, taking care to look them all in the eye individually. They tried not to flinch, but they didn’t quite manage. The one who spoke first was best at hiding it.

“And were we bothering you...lady?” he asked.

She pursed her lips slightly. They always added the  _ lady _ , didn’t they? No matter what they said to her. Her only claim to a title was via her sister’s husband, which would have been far-reached even if they had been on good terms. 

“You are,” she said cooly. “And you’re bothering the mistress of the shop, I believe.”

The two more cowardly one's exchanged a glance. Slight panic in the third, but the second is more incredulous. The female’s lips quirked a bit at being called mistress of the shop, which had been Nesta’s guess, unlikely as it might be. It seemed she was correct.

The first one said, “This is an internal matter, lady. Concerning...Illyrians. Not...others.”

_ Others _ , he said. Because he wouldn’t call her witch, and he couldn’t call her High Fae--not the she minded, of course. She wouldn’t want to be High Fae anyway.

“I don’t care,” she told him. Because she truly didn’t. “I said I like to shop in peace.”

They didn’t move or say anything. Neither did the female. She seemed to be holding her breath.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Go. Don’t let me see you again.”

The first one took the smallest step towards her. She nearly laughed. If he was trying to intimidate her, he might at least try actually standing in front of her.

“I don’t answer to your bastard Commander,” he said in a low voice.

And there Nesta did laugh. Mirthless, cold. “I have no commander,” she said, and she felt something flash in her eyes--something real, tangible.

And they must have seen it, whatever it was, because they all stepped back, the female too.

“Now get out.”

And they did, the third one making more signs of protection and mumbling something to himself under his breath. Nesta watched them go.

She heard the female loose a breath. She turned to face her. “I’d like to see your coats.”

The female did not look her in the eyes. “Lady, I....”

Was she going to grovel? Or ask her to leave?

“I don’t appreciate any interference with how I run my shop.”

Neither, apparently.

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “I don’t care how you run your shop,” she said. “I don’t care about if your neighbors like you or not. I only care to shop in peace. Will you let me see your coats or not?”

The female looked up. “They’re over here,” she said, and led Nesta over to the far corner.

Nesta started feeling the fabrics, as if she was debating which one to choose.

“Are you looking for anything in particular, lady?”

“No,” she said.

“Did you come in here to shop?”

Nesta turned her head sharply. The female didn’t blink, just stared at her head on.

Her eyes narrowed, but they didn’t flash. She didn’t feel whatever that thing was again. The emotion was...normal. She was intrigued.

“What’s your name?”

“Emerie.”

“Did you build this shop?”

“My father. It’s mine now.”

Nesta’s eyes trailed upward. “What happened to your wings?”

For running down the inner side, there was a long scar. It didn’t look like the scars most of the Illrian males had. This one was precise. Surgical.

Emerie started slightly. Hesitated. “I was clipped,” she said, and her voice sounds soft for the first time.

Nesta furrowed her brow. “You...can’t fly?”

Now Emerie’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Who clipped your wings?”

Her jaw clenched. “Are you sure I can’t help you with your coat, lady?”

Nesta blinked. She supposed she was being rude.

She didn’t mean to be. She was just curious by nature. She didn’t always know when to stop asking questions. She didn’t mean anything by it.

“Do you work here alone?” she said.

“Er...” Emerie was a bit surprised by her change in conversation. “Yes. The shop’s mine.”

“You do the sales? The upkeep? The storage? All by yourself?”

“Yes...lady.” Emerie’s tone was careful.

“What about the books?”

“What books?”

“The record books,” Nesta said impatiently. “Keeping track of sales, of orders. You run the books?”

Emerie faltered. “I...yes.”

“Well, isn’t that a bit much?”

“Pardon?”

“Don’t you need someone else along?”

Emerie locked her jaw again. “No.”

“Oh, you’re managing?”

“I am, lady.”

“You haven’t made a sale in weeks,” Nesta said. That much is obvious from the state of the store. There are autumn clothes alongside the winter ones.

The female steeled herself. “Lady, I ask you either make a purchase or leave.”

Nesta restrained herself from rolling her eyes and settled for crossing her arms. “Look. You need help here. I’m excellent with numbers and I’d ward off males like those. I need a job.”

“ _ You  _ need a job?” Emerie almost smiled. “You’re the High Lady’s sister. You live with the General Commander.”

Nesta was quite tired of being reminded of the facts. “That’s not my money, though, is it?” she snapped. Then she composed herself. “Well?”

Emerie tilted her head. “You’re good with numbers?”

Nesta’s heartbeat sped up. “Yes.”

“Show me.”

“Show me your books.”

Emerie led her behind the counter, pulled out a small brown notebook, and handed it to Nesta. She rifled through it.

It was disorganized. She didn’t have a good system differentiating sales and orders, and she was spending too much on things she didn’t need but (Nesta assumed) thought was befitting a clothier. And there was bargaining to be done, she thought. Her supplier for boots was overcharging her. Nesta told her this, explaining the changes she would make.

Emerie chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment. Then she sighed. “All right, then. You can start now. Organize that sales and orders bit you mentioned.”

Nesta sucked in a breath. She was  _ hired.  _ She had a  _ job.  _ And she’d get paid!

The females didn’t smile at each other--not the one with the scarred body nor the one with the scarred soul. But it was something close.

* * *

October 20 - 4 years after

Nesta stands at the stove, watching her children at the kitchen table. “Gigi Miri, look at my picture,” Nicky is saying.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Nicky,” she says, looking over.

“Gigi Miri, please draw my hand,” Avery says, holding her hand down on her paper so Miri can trace it.

“Gaga Adil, please draw my other hand,” Avery says, switching her hands.

Adil and Miri exchange a smile. “Of course, Ava.”

The strawberry tea bubbles over on the kettle. Nesta turns to pour it into mugs.

It’s routine. Strawberry tea. Adil and Miri with her children at the kitchen table. Chattering, blissfully oblivious. Blissfully routine.

Nesta can almost pretend like Elain did not knock on her door last night.

Except then there is a knock, and Nesta can feel it in her bones, same as last night.

She stifles a sigh. Or a scream.

“Watch them, please,” she mumbles. Miri catches her eye and nods once.

She can feel Adil’s eyes on her as she leaves, but he doesn’t say anything.

Like last night, she opens the door only long enough to let herself out.

“Elain,” she says, sighing, “I thought I was clear--”

“I know, I know,” she says, interrupting her. “I shouldn’t have sprung myself up on you like that.”

To say the least.

“But since you know I’m here, it’s not really a surprise,” she says, her voice hopeful.

Nesta chews on her lip. She doesn’t want to hurt Elain. She never has.

And she has missed her. No matter how hurt or angry she is, Elain...she could never stay mad at Elain. Not truly, not forever. It isn’t because she was innocent or sweet. She is just her baby sister and she loves her too much. She is the first person she ever loved.

She was the first baby she ever loved.

“I want you to come with me,” she says. “Can someone be with...your children?”

“Someone’s with them now,” she says. “Where do you want me to go?” A part of her can’t believe she’s even entertaining the idea, but something in her soul won’t let her let her go.

“I...brought someone.”

Nesta’s heart stutters. “You brought someone?”

“Please don’t get angry,” Elain pleads. “She’s not here. She’s waiting by a park. She’s...we want to see you. Just for a bit. Just to talk. Please.” Her warm brown eyes are fighting back tears, and she’s struggling to keep her voice even, which Nesta greatly appreciates. Once she would have simply cried.

“Thirty minutes,” Nesta says. “Starting now.”

Elain nearly trips over herself turning around and setting down the street. She keeps turning ahead to look at Nesta, but she doesn’t say anything.

Sugar Valley isn’t too big and there aren’t too many places she could be, so she isn’t terribly surprised when Elain leads her into one of the parks.

And she isn’t at all surprised when she sees Feyre sitting on one of the benches.

* * *

October 24 - 1 year after

The fare to Gilameyva wasn’t too expensive. Then again, the carriage wasn’t very nice.

Montesere, she decided, was entirely ugly. The way the scenery changed the moment they crossed into Gilameyva was like magic. Perhaps it was.

Or perhaps she had been waiting for it for so long, it only seemed more beautiful.

Gilameyva boasted the largest export of berries North of the Wall, she knew. She hadn’t expected to see it everywhere, though. And she certainly hadn’t thought she’d smell it, but she did. A lovely sweet scent, a variety of berries mixed in. She couldn’t tell exactly which. She supposed she’d learn, if she stayed here.

“A little ways to Ciyaluck, lady,” the carriage driver called back in his heavy accent. The Gilameyvan spoke the common tongue, but they also had their own language. Ciyaluck was their name for their capital city, Anvernessa.

She had much to think about, she knew. Sending a new letter to her sisters, in case they sent one into Montesere that she never received. Finding out exactly where it was she was going to go. But she was tired from her travelling, and she was in no state for heavy thoughts, so she simply leaned back and breathed in the sweetness in the air.

Better than salt and citrus. Better than pine. Better than anything.

* * *

October 20 - 4 years after

Nesta’s changed slightly since she last saw her. Her hair shines. She’s gained weight. Her curves are more defined. Yet there are dark circles and heavy bags under her eyes.

So Feyre gathers the years have been kind to Nesta, but not these past few days.

“Hi,” she says softly.

Nesta doesn’t say anything. Just stares at her.

Elain had said she was angry. She is probably even angrier at her. She supposes she deserves it.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Nesta still doesn’t say anything.

“Please say something,” Elain says, her voice breaking.

Nesta turns to her head to look at her. “What do you want me to say?”

A tear slips down Elain’s face and she wipes it quickly away. “I don’t know,” she manages to get out. “I don’t know how I wanted this to go.” She swallows. “I know--I know you can’t forgive us. I know you didn’t even want us to come. But...I’m begging you, Nesta. We--we’re so sorry. And we love you--so much. Please, I know you can’t...but, please, if you could just  _ try _ \--” Elain’s voice cracks on her last word. She brings a hand to her face to keep herself from sobbing.

Nesta keeps her face impassive, but Feyre knows her. Nothing in the world could turn off Nesta’s connection to Elain. There’s no way this doesn’t faze her, even the slightest bit.

Elain takes a shaky breath. “I think we could bring more into your children’s lives. If you would let us. And it would be on your terms. Here, in Sugar Valley. They’re...a part of you, so...so they’re a part of us.” Here Nesta turns away. Feyre bites her lip. Elain continues, “We want to know them. We...please.”

Nesta’s eyes move upward, but not like she’s rolling them. “I...can’t.”

“Nesta,” Feyre says. Her sister winces slightly when she hears her speak her name. “I know we’ve...hurt you. But please. Please.”

It sounds pathetic, even to her own ears. But there’s just so much to say, and she doesn’t know how to say it. She’s thought for years what she would say to Nesta when she would see her again, and it’s like all of that has evaporated from her mind the moment she saw her.

“Just us,” Elain says, trying again. Her voice is stronger now. “Just the three of us. Slowly. Your children don’t have to know. Just...to try. We love you. And we know...we know you must still love us.”

Her voice is desperate towards the end, and Feyre feels her heart slip down. Because Elain’s right. She’s their eldest sister and she  _ has  _ to love them.

“Maybe lunch?” Feyre suggests quietly. That’s what Cassian had said they did. Perhaps she’d agree to that for them, too. “Just with us? For now...” she trails off. Hesitates. Then she says, in a small voice, “Emerie wants to see you too.”

Nesta closes her eyes.

“Please,” Elain says one more time.

Nesta looks at them both. Feyre is holding her breath. She can feel Elain do the same.

“No,” she says, and the air leaves the whole world. Elain gasps a little, a strangled sort of sound.

“I can’t right now. I’m...I can’t. S....”

And she turns right on her heel and leaves.

Elain gasps again, louder this time, and she breaks down into sobs, so Feyre can’t. She can’t cry because Elain already is and she knows Nesta is too and all the Archeron sisters can’t be crying at the same time. They just can’t.

Feyre sits down next to Elain and puts an arm over her. “She’ll meet with us eventually,” she says. “You saw, she’s mad, but she’s still our sister.”

Elain picks her head up and looks at her. “I d-don’t think we sh-sh-should come back until she asks us to,” she sobs.

“I know.”

“It was a mistake.”

“Oh, Elain....”

But she doesn’t contradict her. Because perhaps it was.

“We’ll do better,” she promises. She says the words to Elain but she’s thinking only of Nesta.

Elain doesn’t answer. She only weeps for the sister she fears she’ll never truly gain back.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I have been waiting to introduce Emerie for years! Please let me know in the comments what you thought of this chapter. Don't forget to bookmark/subscribe to stay tuned, and feel free to come say hello on my Tumblr @ladynestaarcheron. Until next time!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for the delay! I had to stay on base a few extra days and then I couldn't update for a while, but I'm here now and will return to more regular updating schedule.  
Thank you all so much for your lovely comments. I can't believe how many people have actually read this more than once. Love you all <3

October 6 - Year of

Once again, Cassian could tell she’d been out of the house as he returned. Not so much in the center of the camp, farther out, but her scent was there, intangible from the mountainside. He could almost pretend it was there to greet him as he came back; like  _ she _ was there to greet him.

Whispers of rebellion were now wide-spread throughout the Illyrian camps, and the main perpetrators were growing louder, more confident. There people were still recovering from Hybern and they were seriously preparing for a civil war.

No one wanted to believe it was inevitable, and at Rhys’ orders, they were still doing everything in their power to appease the masses without compromising his control over them. It wasn’t an easy balance. Cassian didn’t want to see another war, didn’t want more of his own people dead, even if they deserved it...but sometimes he thought it was the only way. He ached for a war, sometimes. He knew the damage, the trauma, the pain, and yet...it brought silence, afterwards. Relative peace.

It felt like the only way, sometimes. Especially for someone like him. He didn’t have any special way with words, he had no diplomatic skills. War was the only thing he was truly good at.

His thoughts turned a different sort of weary as he entered his house. As usual, he went directly to Nesta’s room.

“Nesta?” he called, knocking on the door. “I’m back.”

No answer, of course. He didn’t really expect one, but he still could taste a bitter regret and disappointment in his mouth.

And it was too much, what with the rebels in the other camps still fresh in his mind.

“I’m exhausted,” he said to her. “I assume you’ve had just as much a busy week as I. I’m going to eat and sleep. Join me...for dinner. If you’re hungry.”

He wasn’t giving up on her, he told himself. He was just tired after a long week. But he would try again tomorrow, when he was better rested. He settled slightly, his heart set on the matter.

Even as it sank when he saw the unopened chocolate bar in the kitchen.

* * *

October 21 - 4 years after

Nesta knows he’s been waiting at her door, because he knocks the moment she and Nicky reach the bottom stair.

Nicky bounds off to the front hall. “I want to say hello!”

Nesta sighs and follows him. Even though she’s slightly dreading his return, she can’t help but smile a little as she sees Nicky reach his pudgy little hand up and open the door. He lets out a gasp of excitement when he sees his father.

Cassian bends down to pick him up, grinning widely at him as he does so. His smile softens slightly when he sees Nesta.

“Hey,” he says.

Nesta turns. “I’ve got to get breakfast ready.”

There’s a surge of emotions inside her when she sees him holding Nicky, and it’s nothing she wants to think about. So she sets off preparing food for the children, pointedly fixed on the various berry jams on the counter when Cassian walks in with Nicky.

He doesn’t take the hint. “So, how have you been?”

“Fine.” She doesn’t look at him.

“Are you going to work today?”

“Yes.”

She can see Nicky squirm a bit in his arms, so he sets him down in his chair.

“So...they go to nursery?”

“Mm-hmm,” she says. “Here you go, Nicky,” she says, placing his breakfast in front of him.

“...and I do want to go there all the time,” Avery babbles to Ollie as they walk in together. She looks up and coos, “Appa!”

Nesta bites her lower lip as the two of them scramble against their father’s legs. They shriek in delight as he lifts them up (both at the same time--Nesta’s never been able to do that). He laughs with them, kissing their foreheads and helping them into their seats.

“You’re coming with us to nursery?” Avery says.

Cassian turns around to look at her, slightly unsure. “I’m...coming with them...?”

“To nursery,” Nesta says.

“Oh. Er, well...am I?” He tries to sound casual, but his voice gives away his anxiety.

“All right,” Nesta says nonchalantly, shrugging a little. She feels anything but, though. Cassian will walk with them to nursery. People will see. People will talk.

“And then...you’ll go to work?”

“Yes,” she says, not looking at him again, busying herself with the food. Because he can’t come along with her to work. Adil doesn’t know. Zeyn doesn’t know, and Zeyn deserves better.

For everything he’s done, all the years he’s been there for them, he deserves at least the truth.

* * *

October 12 - Year of

He knew something was wrong even before he woke up, but he was too groggy to figure out what it was as he stirred.

And then he jolted awake, realizing what it was: Nesta was gone.

He tore through his room before he even registered the full impact of the fact, throwing open his door, thundering down the hall, and then throwing open hers.

Bed empty. Slept in, clearly. A book on her bedside table, marked by a pressed flower in the middle. A coat folded over on the chair. Those were the only touches of her in the room. It’s still as drab and empty as it was when he told her it was hers.

Her scent was still strong. She hadn’t been gone long.

There was no trace of anyone else in the room, in the house. So she hadn’t been taken, then. Not stolen from under him, not the start of the inevitable war. She had...left.

Slightly calmer, he dressed quickly and set out to look for her.

He soared high enough not to be seen for anyone who wasn’t looking, low enough to still follow her tracks. Her presence grew stronger farther out of the camp, and he circled around the outskirts a few times before spotting her--there. Her braided crown shone in the dim light of the dawn, as she carried what looked to be a relatively heavy crate out of a shop.

He knew that shop, though, didn’t he? It belonged to that female, the clipped one...Emerie.

And then she was there, too, at the door of the shop, calling Nesta’s name and saying something to her.

He watched them, still hidden out of sight. They weren’t friends, clearly. But they were...cordial.

Was Nesta...working there?

“Busy week, indeed,” he said to himself.

Feyre would find this just as interesting as he did, undoubtedly.

He only felt the slightest bit of guilt as he turned toward the direction of Velaris, but it was nothing that didn’t fade with the chill of the wind and the hope that her sister would know what to do.

* * *

October 21 - 4 years after

With the children gone, there is a silence between them. A lifetime ago, for a short time, they would sit together quietly: she reading, he perhaps going over reports, perhaps watching her, both content enough to just be close. It had been as close to peace Nesta thought she would ever be allowed to feel, with that living thing inside her finally at rest in his comforting presence.

This is not that silence. This is awkward, a vacuum, something missing and wrong. She doesn't bother to break it, because she doesn't think anything she can say will be better.

Evidently, he disagrees. "So, do you like working at the bookshop?"

Small talk. Wonderful. "Yes."

"Do you get to read a lot?"

"I read everything I shelve."

"And that's...?"

"I'm the archivist for romance novels and anything human-authored."

Cassian glances at her, smiling a bit. "That's good. That's good for you." He huffs a small laugh.

She remembers the day she realized his constant teasing did not bother her anymore, when it no longer sounded mocking, but light-hearted. She had secretly categorized his laughs. This one was the one she heard mostly when she was half-asleep, something in her position amusing him, but he tried not to be too loud so as not to wake her.

He was such a force of life, even when surrounded by bloodshed. He laughed all the time, back then.

"Do you know all the other archivists?" he asks her, unknowingly breaking off her wandering into memories.

"I do," she says, slowly, carefully.

"Are you...friends?"

Now Nesta looks at him. "Yes."

"Well...good. Good that you...I mean...." He stops himself and starts over. "I'm glad you have friends here."

Nesta stops suddenly, just outside Sugar Books. She isn't quite sure what possesses her, but she turns to him and says, "Did you know my sisters came to my house?"

Cassian's eyes widen. "I--yes. Yes, I knew that."

"Did you--" Nesta cuts herself off. She doesn't want to hear the answer.

_ Coward _ , she thinks to herself. And she feels such anger at him. Just one morning here and already he's ruined the calm of her mind. She feels confused again, and that makes her feel stupid, which makes her even angrier.

"Go back to the inn," she tells him. "I'll pick you up later when it's time to collect them from nursery. Around four."

"Nesta--"

"You can go now."

And she turns on her heel and walks inside the store.

He doesn't follow.

Good, she tells herself. But then it doesn't matter, because Adil's there, and he knows. She can tell by the look in his eyes.

“That’s him?” he says to her. His tone is hushed so only she can hear it.

She nods slightly.

“You want me to make him leave?”

“No,” she whispers. “It’s not like...it’s fine. He wants to...know them. And you know, Adil...” she hesitates. “I never exactly wrote...it doesn’t really matter, because he didn’t read my letters anyway, but--”

“He didn’t read them?”

“No, but that’s--well, that’s not...” Nesta takes a deep breath.

“I know you’re going to do what’s best for your children, but don’t forget about yourself.”

She meets his eye uneasily.

“Please don’t tell anyone. I don’t want Zeyn to know.” She tries to keep the guilt out of her voice. “Not yet, at least. Miri knows, though.”

Adil looks at her, surprised. “Is that what you’re worried about? Zeyn?”

Nesta purses her lips. “I’m worried about a lot.”

“Well, don’t mind Zeyn,” he says. “You’ve got Ava, Nicky, and Ollie and yourself to focus on. Nothing else. Zeyn shouldn’t be in the equation.”

“You’re too hard on him,” Nesta says. Adil was always slightly cold towards Zeyn where Nesta was concerned. She never liked to think about how that made her feel.

“I just mean...yes, it might be...beneficial for them to know their father. Controlling that takes priority. Zeyn should know that.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You won’t. He should understand they’re more important.”

“Well...I don’t think the two are mutually exclusive.”

Adil sighs. “Nesta. You can’t give him what he wants.” He ignores her slight flinch. “Don’t make a mistake where it matters--your own wellbeing, and theirs.”

Nesta bites the inside of her cheek. Miri was soft and lovely and warm, always so comforting. Adil was more like her. Pragmatic. Logical. Without the burning fire inside, but she managed to keep that under control nowadays, anyway.

“You’re right,” she says.

He smiles a bit at her, rare for him. Reserved mostly for Miri. For her children, too.

“You don’t need to worry if you just stay focused,” he says. “Remember I’m here.”

And he leaves for his office, leaving Nesta at the front desk, waiting for Zeyn to arrive with her coffee in a determined stance.

* * *

October 12 - Year of

Feyre loosened the Illyrian armor she wore on her thighs and tossed them onto her bed, sighing as she did so. It was Rhys who was in control in Illyria, attempting peace talks with the camp lords and reminding the rebels who still sat on the Night throne, and so the task of quelling the fears of the leaders of Velaris fell to her.

Amongst the common citizens, there were only rumors, but the palace governors and the like had their own means of gathering intelligence, and they came to her with demands of confirmation of a brimming civil war.

She had done a decent enough job of calming them, but only today, and only barely. So much of war was bureaucratic meetings, and she wasn’t good at that part, not like Rhys was.

She missed him. She wanted quiet. Didn’t they deserve quiet, after all they’d been through?

Of course, just as the thought ran through her mind, she heard a loud  _ thud _ from the floor below her.

Cassian. Currently storming through her house.

Her heartbeat quickened as she hurried to meet him, instantly fearing the worst. Nesta had disappeared. She’d gotten into trouble. Or worst, rebels had decided to make their anger with Rhys known through her.

And that would be all her fault. What was she supposed to tell Elain? She would lose both of them.

“What’s happened to her?” she said as she saw him.

But...he didn’t look anxious or upset, and certainly nothing like the manic mess he had been when Hybern’s soldiers had had her in their clutches. He looks...unsure.

“Nothing. I mean, something, but she’s fine. I think. She’s...” he hesitated. “She’s gotten a job.”

Feyre blinked.

A  _ job _ ?

_ Nesta _ ?

“She...she what?”

“Yeah, at a shop. Outerwear and the like. A female named Emerie owns it. It was her father’s, but she says it’s hers now.”

Feyre turned her head to look out the window towards the Sidra, shock fading slightly, but still a bit dazed. “She is good with numbers, I guess?”

Cassian nodded. “I know. I just...she hasn’t told me. I saw her working there, that’s how I know. She didn’t tell me. She doesn’t...talk to me.” He paused. “I didn’t know she talked to anyone,” he admitted.

“Hmm,” Feyre said. “Well. That’s...that’s good, isn’t it? A job is...good.”

“Right,” Cassian said slowly. “Good. So, I should...?” He looked at her questioningly.

“Erm, no?” Feyre said, and she sounded completely unaware of the right answer. Then she affirmed, “No. Don’t do anything. She can keep it to herself if she wants to, for now. She’ll come to us when she’s ready.”

She hoped, at least.

* * *

October 21 - 4 years after

She’s managed to keep up appearances at work all day. Miri shoots her concerned glances, but she pretends she doesn’t notice. She nods along to Zeyn and Leila’s chattering, she snaps at Maz when he annoys her too much, she fixes the spines on old books. She pretends all is normal, and it goes by quickly.

“I’ve got to go now,” she says to Zeyn, fifteen minutes earlier than she would normally leave. “I’m taking the children to the healer.”

“All of them?” he asks, slightly surprised. “You don’t want me to take two?”

“No,” she says.

“Shall I come for dinner?”

“They’ll be tired,” she lies easily. “I’m just going to put them to bed.”

“Well,” he says, and his voice turns playful as he takes a step closer. “I could come after they go to bed.”

Nesta automatically tightens the shields on her mind, like she always does when she thinks something she shouldn’t. “I’ll be tired,” she sighs.

“All right, then. Can I meet you for breakfast?”

Nesta finishes gathering up her things. “Sure,” she says. “Breakfast. I’ve got to go now.”

He leans down and gives her a kiss on her cheek. “See you tomorrow, then!”

She smiles slightly at him and walks back out to the front room. It fades quickly off her face when she sees who is standing outside.

"I thought I told you to wait for me to pick you up," she hisses as she quickly walks to him, lowering her voice so no one can hear.

"I know, I just figured it'd be easier...I brought coffee." His voice is slightly hopeful as he holds up the cups in his hand. But the ire in her eyes doesn't fade, and his face falls. "I'm...sorry, Nesta. I didn't realize...."

"What was our deal?" she snaps. "What did we say?"

"But this has nothing to do with the children--"

"You don't make the rules!"

"Why are you so angry?"

"Because you aren't listening to me! You can't just show up at my work! I have--" Nesta stops herself at the feel of Zeyn's touch on her shoulder.

She hadn't even noticed he was approaching, so focused on Cassian and their argument.Her anger fades and something inside of her slips downward when she sees his eyes fixed on Zeyn's hand upon her.

"Nesta," he says. "Who's this?" His tone is casual, but he feels tense beside her.

Nesta looses a breath. Cassian doesn't look at her, but he does meet Zeyn's gaze. He doesn't answer.

"This is Zeyn," she says to him. "He's...an archivist. Zeyn, this is Cassian. My children's father."

Zeyn inhales sharply and Cassian's eyes go immediately to her.

Nesta looks up at Zeyn. "He's here for the day. To see them."

Cassian stretches out his arm, unfolding his wings as he does. A clear marker that he is, in fact, her triplets' father--as if his eyes and hair and skin did not show it enough.

Zeyn shakes it once, his other arm still on Nesta.

“We...have to go pick them up now,” she says. She doesn’t want to look at Zeyn. She lies to him so much, but she justifies it all the time. This feels different. Dirty.

But he’s Zeyn. So if he’s angry or hurt, he doesn’t show it. He nods and says, ever cheerful. “Tell them I’ll see them tomorrow.” He bends down to kiss her, on her cheek, like earlier.

It could be romantic. It could be brotherly. And she knows he’s done it because he doesn’t want to upset her, doesn’t want to make things awkward or uncomfortable. For her.

“I will,” she says. But he’s already walking away, and she’s not sure he hears.

* * *

November 3 - Year of

Nesta didn’t know why he didn’t say anything to her about her job, because she knew he knew, but she was glad of it, nonetheless.

She had felt his presence in that strange way she always could a few times around the shop, hovering out of sight. He never came in, and he didn’t say anything to her when he was sitting in the living room and she walked through the front door.

It was last week. She knew he knew that she was leaving the house by then, spending nearly all day out, but they had never discussed it. Well, of course she had never discussed it--but he had never brought it up while talking to her through her door.

But her entering the house and them locking eyes was the first time they were both forced to acknowledge it.

She hadn’t expected him to be there. Her mind was wandering on her way back, her head scattered with numbers from a late shipment. She only remembered she was avoiding him when she saw the look of surprise on his face.

He recovered quickly, of course. His face smoothed over in a smirk. “Nice day?”

She rolled her eyes before she remembered she wasn’t supposed to show any emotion at all--least of all irritation, which seemed to be his favorite on her--but no matter, she was already in her room before he had the chance to say anything.

Since then she could feel him around the shop more. Almost every day. He never came in, and she didn’t even think he ever touched ground, but he was there. Perhaps he couldn’t even see her, perhaps he just felt her the same way she could him: like something had slipped inside her, between her skin and her flesh, entwining itself between her sinew and teasing every one of her nerves. Like she could never truly be alone again.

She felt him then, as she and Emerie were preparing to close the shop. She was going over the books on last time while Emerie re-shelved some sweaters a few females had decided not to buy.

Her jaw clenched slightly. She could feel him in her ribcage, sometimes. It made it hard for her to breathe.

Drinking used to help ease the sensation, and now she couldn’t have that. It was times like these she wanted a glass of _ something _ most.

But at least she had something else to concentrate on. The numbers.

“It’s him again, isn’t it?” Emerie said suddenly.

Nesta looked up. The two females mostly tolerated each other, cordial at best, but mostly indifferent. They weren’t particularly friendly and they didn’t discuss things they didn’t have to. “I beg your pardon?” Nesta said, voice icy.

“The General Commander,” she said, not backing down from her tone or stare.

Nesta flinched when she heard his title. She decided to ignore her and went back to the books in front of her.

“It is. He bothers you. He doesn’t...hurt you, does he?” There was only the barest trace of concern in her voice.

Nesta felt her lip curl. “That’s entirely none of your business.”

Emerie put away the last sweater and took a step closer. “You know, it was my father who ordered my wings clipped.”

Nesta continued writing out her equations, not responding.

“I used to have a cousin. We were close, but I never spoke to him after that.” Emerie’s gaze moved out the window. “He died in the battle of Hybern.”

Nesta ignored her still, but her heart sped up slightly. She did  _ not _ want to have the conversation.

“I know that...someone...clipped your wings,” she said, and Nesta could feel bile rise up her throat. “Maybe more than once. But you should be careful...before...your cousin dies,” she finished lamely.

Nesta stood up. She stared at Emerie, her face blank. “I’ve finished for tonight. I’m placing in an order for more coats tomorrow.”

She left the shop quickly, her mind and heart racing and her very bones screaming for a drink. And with no numbers left to distract her till morning, Nesta knew she was in for a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait to get into Nesta and Emerie's relationship! Also, how mad are we at Cassian right now for going to Feyre :P Poor boy. He doesn't know what he's doing.  
I'd love to hear what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter seven! As always, thank you for the comments, and enjoy!

October 23 - 4 years after

Cassian has spent the last two days apologizing for acting against Nesta’s wishes by obsessively asking her permission for things. She is grudgingly appreciative at first, but it quickly gets on her nerves. After the umpteenth time Cassian answers an innocent question from one of the children with, “Well, we have to ask Mummy first,” she snaps at him.

“Are you capable of following my ground rules and using your own discretion to decide when you need to check things with me?”

He pales the slightest. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

She bites her tongue. She never thought she’d get tired of hearing him say that.

“I’m irritating you further, I know. I just. I’m really...trying...not to screw up anymore here, Nesta,” he says, and his voice is pleading enough, she softens just a bit. “I don’t really trust my judgment.”

“You can’t be a parent if you don’t trust your judgement,” she says, and her words are harsh but her tone is not. “I don’t need another person to take care of.”

He nods. “Of course. I understand.”

He makes an effort to be more authoritative, she thinks, but he still glances at her every time before saying anything.

“And this bothers you?” Amorette says to her, sitting next to her on a bench at the park.

Nesta tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ears. She is watching them play with the children--one of them jumping out from behind a tree and chasing the others in turn. “Yes,” she says. “He’s a military general. He should be capable of...knowing what to do in regular domestic situations.”

“I would hardly classify this as a regular domestic situation,” Amorette says wryly.

“Well, it’s ours, and he’ll have to get used to it,” she says, stubborn. “I’m not asking for much here.”

“He doesn’t know how to be a parent,” she reminds her. “Patience. It’ll take time. He’s trying to do right by them while still doing right by you. That’s a lot to ask of anyone.” Amorette gives her a brief, teasing smile.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “He’s over five hundred years old. I’m sure he can handle it.”

“Is he really doing such a bad job?”

Nesta studies him, letting each child catch him in turn, ducking in and out of their reach. She’s angry and hurt and confused, but he’s the father of her children and they’re shrieking with joy. Even Ollie.

She can see Amorette smile a little in her periphery. “I think it’s a good thing. Is he staying long this time?”

“He has to leave later today.”

“How are you doing with that? These sporadic visits?”

“We’ve...yet to figure out an arrangement,” she says. “I have to stay here. He needs to stay there.”

“So you’re staying here, then?”

Nesta looks at her. “Of course I am.”

“Why do you think you need to stay here?”

“My whole life is here!”

“I’m not attacking,” Amorette says. “I’m only asking.”

Most of their conversations when they first met had gone this way: with Amorette trying to get to the bottom of Nesta’s emotions and thought process and her immediately going on the defensive. She thought she had gotten past that.

“I know,” she says, apologetic. “I...I have work here. The children have everything they know here. I have...friends here. And Zeyn,” she adds hurriedly.

Amorette is quiet for a minute. Then she says, “And those are enough to stay?”

Nesta leans back a little on the bench. “You know what it was like for me there,” she says. “I have a home here now.”

“You’re different. It would be different.”

“You want me to leave? You think I should go?”

“I think you should figure out what your long-term plan is, because I know you, and you’re going to lose your mind with him just coming by whenever it fits his schedule, however often that might be,” she says. “Work shouldn’t be what’s keeping you here.”

“I love my job.”

“There are book stores in Velaris.”

“This is the first place I made for myself. The first place I really was able to support myself.”

“I know that,” she says. “I watched you rebuild your life here.” In truth, she was a very big help in the process, but she is too kind to say so. “What was best for you and the children then might not be what is best for you now.”

“I can’t go to Velaris,” Nesta says. “You never saw me around them. I’m a different person here. I wouldn’t be a good mother.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” she says. “But I think you should consider your options. If this were me, I’d give myself a year or so to feel out what’s best, but you’re more time-pressed. I think you want to know for certain what your future holds.”

She is right about that. But Nesta can’t decide what she should do until she figures out what she wants.

She can’t hate him while watching him make her children laugh. But she is still angry--at him for showing up now, for not finding her then. Not for the first time, she wonders what would have happened if she came back to the Night Court and knocked on his door after finding out she was pregnant. And then she is angry at herself, too.

“What is best for the children...is me at my most functional,” she says, mostly to herself.

Amorette lets out a short chuckle. “I think you can go bigger than  _ functional _ .”

“Then...whatever. My best. That’s here. With our routine.”

“You know better than anyone,” Amorette says. “But I still think you should seriously consider if you want them to have irregular visits with him or to live with you both. I don’t know which is better. Discuss it with Miri. Adil. Me, if you’d like. Him.”

She doesn’t mention Zeyn by name, but then she says, “Have you...talked?”

“Not yet,” Nesta says. She feels guilt clench her insides.

“I’m not sure how big a part of the equation he should be, Nesta,” she says.

Nesta is already shaking her head before she finishes her sentence. “You don’t know how much he’s given us.”

“I do. More than you asked for. But that’s the thing. You didn’t ask him. You know you’re not...what he imagines you to be.”

“You’re free the twenty-seventh of the month?” Nesta asks, firmly ending the discussion on the subject of Zeyn and Cassian.

Amorette nods, well-used to Nesta’s aversion to delving into topics she’s uncomfortable with. “Of course.”

“Seven?”

“Always.”

“Thank you,” she says, and means it. Of all the help she’s been given by the various people in Sugar Valley, Amorette’s help with the children at the end of each month is probably what she values most.

“Are you leaving now?” she asks her.

Nesta chews on her bottom lip as she overlooks Cassian and her children. “I’ll let them wear themselves out a little longer, I think.”

But even though they had been running around for well over an hour, she didn’t think any of them looked like they were even a little bit tired.

* * *

November 9- Year of

Emerie’s shop was not normally full of conversation, but the past few days had held only silence, except for talking to customers. Emerie did not apologize to Nesta and Nesta did not want her to.

At first, because she was too angry to think about it, and if Emerie brought it up in conversation, then she would have to. And she certainly wasn’t going to forgive her, so there wasn’t any point in apologizing.

After a few days of that, Nesta decided that neither of them should bring it up because it didn’t matter. She didn’t care. Emerie probably didn’t care either; that was why she hadn’t made any effort to talk to her as well.

But then Nesta grudgingly came to the conclusion that perhaps her boss--and only companion who generally did not irritate her on sight--was not entirely in the wrong, and perhaps someone else would have appreciated her concern.

And perhaps it was the Solstice decorations she had begun to see hanging in the shops, or maybe it was that she had finally managed to read yesterday without her head aching...truth be told, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure what it was that possessed her to say, at the end of the work day, “You can come for dinner, if you want.”

Emerie, who was straightening out children’s coats, turned to her. “What did you say?” Disbelief colored her voice.

Nesta lifted her chin, ignoring the heat rushing to her cheeks. “I said you can come for dinner, if you want.”

Emerie raised an eyebrow. “I heard you.”

Nesta sucked on her bottom lip for a moment. “He isn’t here. I was going to make stew.”

She wasn’t quite sure why she said that, too. She had never made stew before.

Emerie saw through her. “You don’t look like you eat much.”

“Forget it.” She shrugged her coat on. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No, wait, Nesta,” Emerie said, and she started a little at the sound of her name. She had never heard her use it before. “I’ll come for dinner.”

Nesta made a non-committal sound as a response. “Come along, then.”

As they left the shop together, Nesta realized that it had been months since she had walked alongside another female.

* * *

November 1 - 1 year after

The Sugar Valley inn was so charming, Nesta couldn’t help but be suspicious. Especially when she saw the rest of the town: quiet, sleepy, like something from a storybook...it seemed unreal.

The similarities to the village Nesta’s family had lived in when they lost their fortune were numerous, but only on paper. It was eerie how different it was in practice.

Nothing ever happened in this town or in that village, but here, people still had a sense of purpose. It wasn’t about survival. And people smiled when they met others. Always. Every single time.  _ Good morning _ s and  _ How are you _ s and  _ Come round for jam _ s chorused in every direction.

Everyone knew everyone. That was how it was in small towns and villages alike. But everyone here seemed to care, too. They gossiped and chattered with everyone they met, all ridiculously involved in each other’s lives. Nesta didn’t think she had ever cared that much about the going-ons of others.

She had wandered around Ciyaluck for a few days, not quite sure of what her next plan was. The city was quite a shock to her after a year in the Illyrian mountains with only two people she spoke to, and she found she didn’t like it much. So she had gone to the City Offices and looked at a list of towns nearby, and found Sugar Valley on it. The name leaped out at her immediately because it seemed like the last place anyone would expect to find her.

But she had had enough of mountains, she decided. So the valley it would be.

There wasn’t much to explore in Sugar Valley. It was small, and after one lap around the town, Nesta knew where she wanted to work.

So she stepped into Sugar Books Manufacturing and Archiving.

There were too many books to look properly organized, which made her like it instantly. The shelves were overflowing, and perhaps that meant that no one in this town read, but she didn’t care. There would be more for her.

“Hello?” she called.

“Hello! I’m here, one moment, please!” The voice came from behind a door that said  _ Employees only  _ on it.

“All right, then,” she said to herself, and turned about the shelves.

She recognized some of the authors, but only from books she had read in the Night Court. Nothing a human had written. And most of them she didn’t recognize, some in a language she didn’t know, either. Gilameyvan, she assumed. She hadn’t realized the language was still heavily in use.

“Hello,” said the voice from earlier.

Nesta turned around. Her eyes widened slightly, and his did too. But he smiled where she pursed her lips.

He was lesser fae. Like a satyr, but instead of half-man half goat, he was half-man half-deer.

He was tall and thin. His skin was brown and spotted white, and his legs ended in hooves. His eyes were large and a warm brown, and they reminded her a bit of Elain’s. His hair was white, and on either side of the top of his head were two horns, curling a bit at the ends.

Nesta was used to seeing fae, but she had not seen so many who looked it. And she had seen very few who looked it and still looked...attractive...to her.

“You must be new in town,” he said, smiling at her. “I heard we had a new resident. You’re staying at the inn, yes?”

Nesta nodded. This town really did like to talk.

He extended an arm. “Zeynal Omarov,” he said, taking her hand. “Everyone calls me Zeyn.”

“Nesta,” she said, not offering anything else and taking her hand back.

“What can I help you with, Nesta?”

He smiled the whole time he was talking, just like everyone she had met here. “I want a job.”

His eyebrows rose a little. “Well...I’ll take you to Adil, then. Come with me.”

She followed him through the door with the _ Employees only  _ sign on it.

“Adil,” he said, raising his voice a little. “There’s...someone here to see you.”

Adil didn’t answer. Zeyn stopped in front of a door marked  _ Head Archivist  _ and knocked. He repeated himself.

“Send them in.”

“Go on in,” he told her cheerfully. “And good luck!” He winked at her before leaving.

Nesta nodded at his retreating back and squaredherself. She opened the door.

The room was small, and overly crammed with books. It was almost comical; piles upon piles everywhere. Even on the chair across from where he was sitting.

“Go on then, sit,” he said, not looking up from what he was reading.

“I’ll just move these over here, then,” she said, and then he picked up his head.

He blinked. “You’re not...from here.”

“I’ve just moved here,” she said.

“Where do you live?”

“I’m...staying at the inn.”

“Oh,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I think I heard someone new was staying there.”

He didn’t smile the whole time he spoke, which was oddly comforting to her, and gave her enough confidence to say, “I want a job. Here.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “We’re not hiring.”

“I have bookkeeping experience. And I can clean. And organize. And...” her voice faltered.  _ And I need a job.  _ “And I love to read.”

Adil studied her. His eyes were nearly black, his skin a deep brown. He was someone Nesta might have mistaken for High Fae before she had learned the differences. Adil’s lips were blue and his ears were pointed, but flat against his head.

“You can organize?” he said finally.

“Yes,” she said immediately. “Just tell me your sorting system. Or if you don’t have one, I can create one. By genre and author. Or something else, if you’d like.”

“Genre and author is fine,” he said, waving a hand. “Have Zeyn introduce you to Miri. She can help you get started.”

And he waved a hand again, shooing her out of the room.

She didn’t particularly care if it was rude. It wasn’t like she had a track record of being much more polite.

And she had a  _ job _ . At a  _ bookstore _ .

Nesta allowed herself a short grin before moving back into the front room to find Zeyn.

* * *

October 23 - 4 years later

The children are indeed exhausted after running themselves ragged in the park, and Nesta and Cassian can barely manage to keep them awake during dinner. Each of them nods off into their plates and the two of them quickly bathe them together so as to get them into bed fastest. They’re asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillows; only Nicky is lucid enough to say a sleepy “Good night, Mummy and Appa,” before going down as well.

“Are they always like that after playing outside?” Cassian whispers to Nesta as they leave the room.

She shuts the door behind them. “When they do so all afternoon, then yes,” she says.

“Oh,” he says, his tone normal. “I didn’t realize they’d tire so soon.”

“They’re children,” she says. “Not military generals.”

“Right,” he says, grinning. “I knew _ that _ . I just didn’t realize....” He trails off.

Nesta leads them downstairs into the kitchen. “Are you leaving tonight or tomorrow morning?” she says, pouring herself a glass of berry wine spritzer.

“First light,” he says. Then he takes a deep breath. “Listen, Nesta, I...I wanted to ask you something.”

She turns away from him, busying herself with wiping down her already clean countertops. “What?”

“I...I’m having a wonderful time,” he says. His voice is soft. “Getting to know them. They’re amazing. They’re perfect. You’ve done an incredible job.”

She pauses, still not looking at him. She can feel his eyes on her and she nods slightly.

“And I just...wish I could give you more than just these gifts I brought and the money.”

“We’re doing all right. And the money....” Nesta tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She turns to face him. “The money helps. Really.”

He smiles at her, and it’s one of his quiet smiles. She’s never seen it in front of other people before, just her, a long time ago, in the Illyrian mountains. “Good.”

She drops her gaze. This is not the Illyrian mountains. This is Sugar Valley.

“Well, I was thinking...I understand your aversion. I get--I know, I really do, Nesta. I get it. But I was hoping that after seeing me with them...I’m doing all right, aren’t I?”

Nesta goes back to the countertops. “You’re doing fine.”

“Well. I was hoping you might...consider...” Cassian stops take a deep breath. Then he says in a rush, “letting your sisters come visit them.”

Nesta puts down the cloth. She closes her eyes tightly.

“What. Did. I. Say.”

“I know, I know, it’s your decision.”

“I don’t know how many times--”

“I’m just--I’m begging you to give them a chance.”

“And they asked you for this? I cannot believe them. What gall.”

“They love you, Nesta, please. Please. Just a visit. They love you so much. They’re so sorry.” He reached out and turns her towards him. “Nesta,” he pleads, hand still on her arm. “Just to meet them. Here, in your house. Or wherever you’d like. For however long you say is all right. But just--”

“I say no time.”

“Nesta, they’re your siblings.”

She flinches.

Siblings, he says. Not sisters. Probably to stir her children in her mind. Or maybe not. Either way, it did.

She lets out a breath.

She does not want her children to grow up to be like her. She wants them happy and full of love.

And they love each other--so much. They are so kind to one another. So good together. For a moment, Nesta imagines them living as she and her sisters do--one wronging another, and then again, and again, and again, and never apologizing, and herself dead and unable to mend things between them, and her throat constricts.

She gasps a little, having not noticed she was holding her breath.

“I’ll...think about it,” she says hoarsely.

Cassian exhales in relief. “Okay. Thank you. Really.”

“You should go.”

“I will. Thank you. I--thank you. All right. I’ll go.”

And he does, and she wishes he doesn’t, because the thoughts in her head are too terrifying to be left to herself.

* * *

November 6 - Year of

It became very clear to Emerie than her employee did not know how to make stew essentially the moment they entered the kitchen. Nesta clearly did not know where the pots were.

After watching her gather everything she needed (or thought she needed--Emerie didn’t know what kind of stew she intended to make with only three potatoes and various spices), Nesta said under her breath, “Now, I suppose I should wash these,” and Emerie thought that was enough.

“Why don’t we go out for dinner?” she suggested. “There’s a place I like.”

Nesta blinked. “Are there...places here? To eat?”

Emerie rolled her eyes internally. “There’s one.”

She lead them to the restaurant. Although she guessed that was a generous term. It was...a place you could buy food. But it was quiet and tucked out of the way and clean, and that was enough for Emerie.

It seemed enough for Nesta as well, judging by her build. The girl was pitifully thin. It was still talk of the camp, how the Commander did not feed the High Lady’s sister. But after working alongside her for the past few weeks, Emerie guessed that that was not entirely his fault.

“Why did you come here?” she asked as they looked at the menus.

Nesta looked up, eyes widening a bit. Then they narrowed. She looked back down.

That was all right. Emerie was used to Nesta simply not answering questions she didn’t want to.

But she wasn’t much for small talk, and she didn’t know what else to say, so she said, “Do you like the cold?”

Nesta frowned. “What?”

“You grew up in the South of the island, didn’t you?”

She nodded slowly.

“So do you like the cold?”

Nesta pursed her lips. “It’s...cold down there too, you know.”

“Oh,” Emerie said. “Well. No. I didn’t know that.”

And they settled into silence again.

“I don’t like the wind, though,” she said suddenly.

“What?”

“The wind. In the mountains. I don’t like it.”

“Oh,” she said again. “Is there any wind in the south?”

Nesta scoffed. “Not like the mountains.”

“Well, perhaps you should move to a valley inland,” she said.

“Perhaps I will. Do you know of any?”

Emerie paused. “Not by name,” she admitted. “I’ve never looked for a new place to live by wind factor. I don’t know that many do.”

“Hurricane survivors,” Nesta said, ticking off fingers. “People with precise hairstyles. Those with...” she eyed Emerie closely. “Weak wings.”

Emerie’s mouth opened a bit. Then she let out a surprised laugh. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”

“That’s odd,” Nesta said, settling back into her chair, picking up her menu again. “I’m always told that being funny is my greatest charm.”

She didn’t quite smile then, her frightening Other employee. But it was close.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I'd love to know what you think!  
If you think Like Pristine Glass could be better, and you're interested in taking part in that, I'm looking for a beta. So please contact me on tumblr @ladynestaarcheron if that's something that interests you.  
Until next time!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! Here's chapter eight! I hope all who celebrate are having a good High Holiday season. I am!  
Anyway, enjoy!

November 9- Year of

The day after Nesta's proposal for dinner became Emerie's treat at the eatery, the two females greeted each other with a tentative nod. The next day it it was a _Good morning_ and a _You as well_, and then the next day there was an-almost smile from Emerie.

They still worked mostly in silence, but it was far more comfortable than the tense couple of days behind them.

"Why have you ordered so many coats?" Nesta asked her.

"I...didn't think I did."

"Well, you've written in here more than we need. Look," Nesta said, showing her the book. "We've not sold these yet. So why do we need a dozen of these?"

"Other shops..."

"Forget the other shops. This is unnecessary. Especially if you downmark the ones we do have...and then wait a month...and then order these..."

"I don't understand," Emerie admitted.

"People will buy perfectly good coats for cheaper than the competition right at the start of winter, right? So they buy these coats that we have. Then they tell people they bought cheap coats at your shop. A month from now, in December, when all the clothiers will have ordered their coats already, all the leftovers will be marked down. We'll order then. And sell."

"Hmm," Emerie said.

Her tone was non-committal, but Nesta suppressed a grin. She knew she'd impressed her.

"So...how much do we mark them down by?"

"Thirty percent," Nesta replied, without hesitating.

"That's a little low."

"It'll pay off."

Emerie narrowed her eyes a bit. "All right," she said.

Now Nesta had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. It was good to be thought of as good again. To be trusted, respected.

She had not desired the feeling for so long...felt nothing at all for so long...and it was slowly coming back to her .

* * *

October 27 - 4 years later

Nesta does not mean for Cassian to be at her house when Amorette arrives, but he is.

He had come with her to bring the children home from nursery, and there had been whispering abound from her fellow townspeople. No one has yet asked her if he’s their father, but it’s quite obvious. If his wings did not give him away, his hair and his eyes, Nicky’s hair and Avery’s eyes, surely would.

She has not yet spoken to Zeyn, either. She tells herself that she isn’t being a coward, just that it’ll be easier after today. And that is partially true. She is always lighter, always more prepared to face whatever it is she has to do after her afternoon trip alone at the end of every month.

Cassian looks to her when Amorette knocks on the door and inwardly, Nesta swears. She realizes only know that unless she kicks Cassian out, the children will be left with the both of them. Him and Amorette. It’s too much of a clash for her between her two worlds, then and now, and makes her too anxious about the future, and she lets Amorette in with a muttured, “I’ll get him to leave.”

“You don’t have to,” Amorette says in an equally low tone. “If you don’t mind, I don’t mind.”

Nesta shrugs a little. She leads them into the kitchen, where the children are sitting with Cassian at the table, coloring.

He looks up, curious. He has not met any of her friends here, not properly, and she doesn’t want him to just yet. Although perhaps she’s just delaying the inevitable...and Amorette is a good person for him to meet first, she thinks. Civil, diplomatic, fair.

“I have to go for a few hours. Amorette’s here...to watch them.”

Cassian nods slowly. “I...can I stay?” His voice is soft. His hand clenches a little on Ollie’s shoulder. Subconscious, she thinks.

But it squeezes her heart a bit, as well. A whole mess of things had led to him missing out on the first few years of their lives and lately she’s been thinking more and more of her part in it, how maybe she is not entirely guiltless and he is not entirely to blame, maybe neither of them played by the rules and in the end, only their children really lost.

But she doesn’t particularly like to think about that. It’s far too complicated for now, right when she is about to leave, so she just says, “If you’d like.”

He smiles widely. His eyes crinkle for a moment, and she remembers that this smile was one of the common ones that she would see all the time back in Illyria. Pure, unabashed joy, because that was who he was. The kind of person who felt that joy all the time.

She doesn’t smile back. Instead she looks away and crosses her arms.

“Amorette’s in charge,” she says to him.

“Yes, of course.”

“I’ll be not four hours.”

“Okay,” he says. He bites his lip, and she knows he is eager to ask where she is going.

But she doesn’t tell him.

“All right, angels,” she says, and her children look up from their coloring. “Mummy’s leaving now. Be good for Amorette and Appa, all right?”

“When are you coming back?” Avery says.

“After dinner.”

“Will you tuck us into bed?”

She smiles at Nicky and moves over to the table to tuck his hair behind his ears. “Do I ever not tuck you into bed?”

He laughs, a rolling sort of giggle that never fails to get a little laugh out of her as well. “I’ll be back soon,” she promises, and bends down to kiss each of them on their heads. Ollie reaches up and kisses her on her cheek, too.

“Dinner’s already in the fridge,” she says to Amorette.

“Go,” she says. “We’ll be fine.”

She nods at her and looks to Cassian, still sitting at the table. He meets her eyes.

“Well...see you later,” he says.

She swallows. Nods once. And turns to leave.

* * *

November 9 - Year of

He did not make a habit of watching her outside of the house. He was busy, after all. Rebellion was thick in the air of the neighboring camps, and even in his own he could feel it. That left him with more than enough to do, and that wasn’t even counting all Velaris had for him. So he did not need to spend any extra time worrying about and chasing after Nesta Archeron.

So he just checked to make sure she wasn’t getting into any trouble. Just stopping by her shop--not going in, just checking.

He wasn’t sure if what he saw could be classified as trouble.

What he saw...he thought...was that Nesta and Emerie were--there was no other way to say it-- _ friends _ .

At least two nights in a row, Emerie walked Nesta to his house. And she lived above the shop! He would hear her laugh--Emerie, not Nesta--every now and again at something Nesta would say.

He supposed he should tell Feyre of her progress...but he didn’t want to leave; he’d just gotten back.. So he could just write it in a letter. The next letter he sent--it wasn’t really urgent, was it? And she was busy too....

Yes, he’d send it in his next letter. He would stay here for a while.

* * *

October 27 - 4 years later

Nesta tries her hardest to empty her mind as she walks. She finds it works best if her head is blank when she arrives at the lake.

She does this slowly, by dissecting everything that has happened to her over the past month, and then pushing it out of herself. This time is obviously harder than most, but she does so anyway: so there was the healer telling her Avery wasn’t getting enough calcium, and then taking them to their first flying lesson, and then the new load of books at the shop.

That was the first half of the month. Easy enough to mull over and then stop.

Then she thinks of Cassian arriving at her door. Meeting the children. Seeing her sisters again. Zeyn bumping into Cassian. Oh, all the forgotten gods, the competition in Chokecherry, how could she forget about that?

The walk is about an hour and a half. Normally more than enough time to clear her head, but now, standing in front of the lake, Nesta feels as though she’s more anxious than ever.

_ No matter,  _ she tells herself. She has to do this.

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She focuses just on breathing for a few minutes. In and out. She doesn’t need to worry about any of it. She’s just here and now. Herself and the lake. That’s all there is.

Well. Most of the time. This time Cassian is there, right behind her, asking her about the children. And Elain and Feyre, a little behind him, and Zeyn is there, and Emerie and Amren, and Amorette, and Adil and Miri and--

_ Deep breath _ , she thinks. She closes her eyes tighter and tries to ignore her restlessness, tries to push past in and reach deep inside herself and pull out that  _ thing _ .

Power. Magic. Abomination. The Cauldron. Death. Whatever it was that festered inside her, that she stole and refused to give back and now desperately regretted it...she grabs onto it and pulls.

Pulls as hard as she can. From deep inside of her--her soul, her core, whatever. It puts up a fight as it always does, but she pulls harder because she knows she can win. She does it every month.

It reminds her of childbirth, in a way. A miserable tight pain, then like being ripped in two, and then...relief.

Only briefly, now. Because now she holds the pulsating, living thing in her hands...and without opening her eyes...she hurls it as far away as she can, into the lake.

She only opens her eyes when she hears the splash. She does this every time, to scared to see what it looks like. If it’s really there.

Nesta wipes her cheeks of her tears. She’s never sure when she starts crying, and she’s not entirely sure why, but she does.

She checks her watch. She’s been here for an hour and a half, the same time it took her to walk here.

“All right,” she mumbles to herself.

There’s no reason to walk back. She cannot winnow, exactly, but she has her own method of traveling. It’s rather clumsy, but far easier right after her ritual at the lake. Her magic is more controllable after she rips most of it out.

She can feel it inside her, quieter. She’s never really learned how to deal with it, so she just...figured it out. It’s not graceful the way she’s seen High Fae use their magic, and not sleekly brutal like how Illyrians wield their power, but it works.

She has no one she’d trust enough who could be of any use with finding out the intricacies of...whatever it is. She did, once--but that relationship is dead, died long ago. Before she even arrived in Illyria.

Her travelling is easier by trees. She leans against one and closes her eyes again. Summons black whips from the ground--she can pretend they’re roots, that’s what makes it easier--and feels them curl up around her legs. They yank hard on her, and she opens her eyes, and stumbles a few feet into one of the parks in Sugar Valley.

She’s back. She rubs her chest and breathes deeply. She doesn’t like her winnow-alternative, but she needs to get back home.

“Good evening, dearie,” says someone behind her.

Nesta turns. Aysel, one of her neighbors. And the biggest gossip Sugar Valley has. “Hello, Aysel.”

“Out on your own, then?” she says, in a would-be casual tone.

“Yes,” she says. “Just for a bit.”

The people of Sugar Valley know she leaves at the end of each month to somewhere else, but none of them know exactly where, and only Amorette, Zeyn, and Adil know what she does.

“Good, good, dearie,” she says, cheerful. “A lady’s got to have some alone time. Makes you a better mother.”

Nesta smiles briefly. “I was just heading home, actually.”

“Oh, I’ll walk with you,” she says.

Nesta sighs inwardly. She normally likes Aysel. She didn’t when she first got here--didn’t like anything much, when she first got here. Aysel is always good for keeping people in the know, and Nesta once cared about the comings and goings of people in her human village, and it’s nice to have a cup of strawberry tea and hear who said what and so forth from Aysel.

But it’s not particularly nice when she knows that she and Cassian are the most popular topic of discussion lately.

Aysel’s miserable at being discreet. “So, I heard you’ve had some visitors lately.”

Nesta can’t help but laugh a little to herself. Years ago this would have irritated her beyond belief, but she’s too fond of Aysel to be properly angry. “A few,” she says.

“And?” she prods.

Nesta sighs aloud this time. “You know, Aysel, there are some people I need to discuss it with first. I don’t want to hurt them.”

“Oh, of course, dearie,” she says hurriedly. “No, I understand. I was just telling Madam Sabina, she was telling me about Jale--you know, Jamal’s waitress? Well, she was saying she had seen her at Samir’s....”

It’s easy to walk alongside Aysel. Nesta nods and chimes in where she’s needed. She keeps her mind focused on how she’s going to have to have a conversation with Zeyn and Cassian and Adil and probably her sisters, too.

And with her step lighter after her trip to the lake, the tasks still seem daunting but nothing she isn’t capable of.

* * *

November 9 - Year of

When Nesta arrived home, he was waiting for her in the living room.

As usual, she looked at him only for a moment before moving to push past him to go to her room.

“Wait,” he blurted out, before she could leave.

And she paused.

He froze, taken aback. He didn’t think it would be this easy; he thought he’d have to plead more.

Although, he mused, he had been pleading for months, really.

“I made stew,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow.

“You could eat with me. I...would like the company.”

There. That was a new tactic. And fitting, he thought. Since she was finally, willingly staying in the same room as he.

She pursed her lips. “I’m not hungry,” she said.

Oh, her voice. He had not heard her voice like this in so long. He felt whatever it was inside him--that thing that he would not name--curl up against it in his mind, try and latch onto it, keep it.

“Join me anyway?” he said, struggling to keep his voice casual. “I meant what I said about company.”

“I’m tired,” she said.

“Oh,” he said. He didn’t want to push her. And he wasn’t sure what pseudo-polite strangers game they were playing, but he was not going to be the one to break the act first, so he said, “Well, next time, then.”

“Sure,” she said.

“Off to bed?”

“Yes.”

“Good night.”

“You too.” And she left before he could say anything else.

He sat back down on the couch. It seemed...the job with Emerie was indeed doing her good. And he thought he had definitely made the right choice in not going straight to Feyre.

Progress with Nesta was slow, but it was real. He only hoped that when she came back to herself she wouldn’t be so angry as to cut him out completely again.

* * *

October 27 - 4 years after

The children are already bathed by the time she arrives and she gives Amorette a grateful smile, but she only shrugs.

“Cassian wanted to,” she says.

“How...was he?” she says, her voice low so only Amorette can hear.

“He was fine. Antsy. He loves them, you know.”

“I know.”

“He loves you, too.”

She flinches.

“Nesta?” Cassian says. She looks over at him, blood rushing to her face, worried that he heard them from across the room.

“Hi, Mummy!”

“Mummy, look at my drawing!”

“Hi, angels,” she says, and joins them at the kitchen table, next to Avery. She drops a kiss on her head. “Were you good for Amorette and Appa?”

“We were so good.”

“We were!”

“Did you have fun, Ollie?” she says, reaching over and brushing his cheek with her hand.

“Yes,” he says.

“Yes? What did you do?”

“I colored with Appa. And Amorette.”

“And me,” Nicky chimes in. “I also colored with Ollie.”

“I also did!”

“Wow,” Nesta says, smiling down at them. “That sounds very fun, then.”

“Are you going to color with us now, Mummy?”

“Actually,” Cassian says, before she can answer. “I was hoping if I could talk to Mummy for a bit.” He holds his breath as he turns to look at her.

Nesta shrugs a little. “Sure.”

“I meant...maybe outside. For a few minutes?”

Nesta frowns. She looks over at Amorette, who nods.

“All right, come on,” she says. “I want to color, too.”

“Mummy’s leaving again?” Ollie says.

Nesta bends down to hug him tightly. “Just for a bit, darling,” she says. “I’ll be right outside.”

She can see Cassian swallow in her periphery. She lets him lead them out of the house.

“So,” she says, sitting down on the bench she has on her front porch. “What did you want to talk about.”

Cassian sits down next to her. “I wanted...to ask you...if you had thought anymore about your sisters visiting.”

Nesta takes a deep breath.

“Because I have a long-term goal here,” he blurts out. “And--I wanted to discuss that with you. But also I think...I mean, you’ll have to--you’ll agree. You agree, don’t you?”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “Slow down,” she says. “You’ll find I’m...of a clearer mind, after my trips alone. So...relax. What are your...long term goals?”

Now Cassian takes a deep breath. He looks her in the eye and says, “I want us both to be seeing the children daily and for them to be in continuous contact with both of our families. All of our families,” he adds, correcting himself.

Nesta’s lips quirk upwards. “I’d expect a more detailed battle plan from the General Commander of the Night Court’s armies.”

But Cassian doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile. Instead he says, softly, “I don’t want this to be a war.”

Nesta turns. “It’s not,” she says. “We’re...on the same side. Right?”

“Right,” he says immediately. “And...I think...I know...your sisters are too. I’m not saying that you should forget everything that happened. I’m saying...start here. Not with--Rhys, or...anyone. Just your sisters. Here. Under your supervision. I’ll come too. Or I won’t. Whichever you think is best. But...that’s the only place I know...to start.”

Nesta’s quiet for a minute. She takes a shaky breath. “I know,” she says, “that you love them. And you want what’s best for them.”

“And I am the first to admit that I don’t know what that is,” he says. “I--I didn’t have a childhood to look back on and take ideas from. I only know what absolutely not to do. But...this is the opposite, right? A big family. Two parents. Aunts...and uncles. And cousins. And I know you hate when I bring it up, Nesta, but...having Rhys on their side is a good thing.”

“I do hate when you bring that up.”

“I know. People are quiet here, but it’ll spread. Someone will find out they exist. Feyre’s niece and nephews. And Rhys’. And my children. And yours. We want the risk to be greater than the reward.”

Nesta flinches--the reward. Slaughtering her children. Taking them away from her for the Mother only knew what purposes.

“That’s the part I do know,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing all the time,” Nesta says automatically, without realizing it.

Now Cassian laughs. “Never thought I’d hear you say that,” he says. And it’s quite good to hear him sound...carefree. Teasing. A bit happy.

Because he’s the father of her children. If he’s happy, he’s a better parent.

“I don’t know what my long term goals are here,” she says. “And...what are yours?”

“I told you.”

“No, I mean,  _ yours _ . Regarding you. Not the children.”

Cassian blinks. “Whatever you give me.”

“Well...what do you want?”

Cassian’s gaze shifts. “I’m not sure,” he says, and she knows he’s lying, but so is she, all the time, so she doesn’t push.

“My sisters...” she says slowly, “can come. For a short visit. Supervised by me. You can come.”

“Nesta--”

“It’s over when I say it’s over.”

“Yes, Nesta, of cou--”

“And they don’t talk about the Night Court.”

“Yes--”

“And they don’t mention anyone they know from there--”

“Yes, Nesta, I’ll let them know.  _ Thank you _ .”

“Don’t thank me,” she says, a bit sharp. “I’ve thought a lot about this. It’s not for you.”

“No, it’s for them. Ava and Nicky and Ollie. Of course.”

Nesta nods. She doesn’t like it, but she’s not who she used to be. She doesn’t avoid things she doesn’t like. Not where her children are involved.

She hates when he brings up how important a relationship with her sisters, with...his side of the family is, because he’s right. She knows he’s right. She’s not enough on her own.

She can take care of them in Sugar Valley, but she’s relearning the lesson she learned when she crossed into Prythian the first time, when she set sail for Montesere, when she found herself here: the world is a lot bigger than just her own home.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Likes and dislikes and suspicions and what you'd like to see more of:)  
I'd also love if anyone interested in betaing Like Pristine Glass would reach out to me (either here or on tumblr @ladynestaarcheron). You don't have to be this fic's biggest fan to beta it--in fact, I'd rather prefer if you weren't! Anyway, I gave a bunch of information on what exactly I'm looking for on my Tumblr, but if you didn't see, I need someone who can help me with plot (although I do have a detailed outline for this fic) and minor spelling mistakes and tenses (I switch tenses a lot here and often forget what I'm supposed to be writing in.) So please lmk if you'd be interested!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!!!!!! Thank you all so much for sticking around during my acclimation to university!! And welcome to any new readers:)  
And thanks a million to my lovely new beta, @thestarwhowishes on tumblr!!  
I'll keep this short. Enjoy!

October 30 - 4 years after

Nesta realizes, as she readies herself for the day, that while Cassian had just arrived, and Elain had sprung herself and then Feyre on her, this is the first time for her children that she knows they are going to be meeting people for the first time. She wears her own regular gown, a light grey shade with purple trim, but vaguely wonders if she should choose something special for her children.

It’s a ridiculous thought, of course. The children don’t need to make a good first impression. Her sisters will love them anyway. And that doesn’t matter either, because that’s not what this is about. It’s for her sisters’ benefit.

But...perhaps it would be nicer...if they wore some of their newer clothes today....

Gilameyvan clothes, of course. Nothing anyone would wear in the Night Court. And nothing properly fancy; they’re toddlers with a whole day ahead of them.

But new. Nice. Nicer than what they usually wear.

She doesn’t want to think why she chooses those outfits for them, but they’re smart and they notice. Nicky asks her, and Avery and Ollie look at her expectantly.

“We’re...going to the park to meet some new people today.”

“New neighbors?”

Nesta smiles. “Not everyone is our neighbor, Nicky.”

“Why not?”

“Go get your coats,” she says.

Her children don’t argue; their attention spans too short to ever register when she distracts them with the ever-alluring proposition of going outside.

But they still remember, and they ask her when they’re all out the door. “Are we going to the park to meet our new neighbors now?”

“They’re not neighbors, Nicky,” Ollie reminds him.

“Who are they?”

“They’re...” Nesta hesitates. “Your aunts.” She prays to the forgotten gods with all her might in that moment, that they won’t ask what an aunt is.

But they are three, and they never stop asking questions.

“What are aunts?” Avery says.

Nesta steels herself, taking a deep breath before opening her mouth to answer--but Ollie beats her to it.

“They’re Mummy’s sisters,” he says, and his voice is nonchalant and nothing in his step nor in his siblings’ change as they walk down the pavement.

But Nesta falters. “How...do you know that, Ollie?”

“Ollie’s very smart, Mummy,” Nicky says earnestly, and she can’t help but smile despite the burning feeling in her throat. She and her sisters may have not spoken for years, but her children love each other.

Avery says, “I think I’m smarter. But Ollie’s better at coloring.”

“I think we’re all very smart,” Nicky says.

“You are,” Nesta says, laughing a little.

And so once again she is spared from finding a way to answer a question she can’t. She knows her luck won’t last forever, but it’s good enough for now.

They chatter on mindlessly between themselves (mostly Avery and Nicky) and on the way to work, her mind wanders to Cassian and her sisters and back to Zeyn in Sugar Valley, leaving her so distracted she walks right into him.

He laughs, easy and familiar. “Head in the books?” he asks, teasing.

She tries to smile but can’t. “My sisters are coming to meet my children,” she says.

His grin falters. “Oh,” he says. He bites his lower lip, which is so odd to see him do, because it’s normally one of her quirks. “Is...Cassian...still here?”

“He’s...yes. He comes and goes.”

“Comes and goes,” he repeats.

“I mean, he tells me. He has to go and, you know...military business.” Nesta isn’t sure why she’s making excuses for him.

“Right.”

“We schedule it.”

“Right.”

“Zeyn,” she says. She reaches her hand out and takes his; squeezes it.

He squeezes back, and her insides clench along with it as guilt takes hold. On whose behalf, she isn’t sure.

“I just need to do what’s right for them,” she says softly. “You know I can’t...deny them anything.”

“Of course,” he says. And his tone and demeanor are understanding, but Nesta think she can see a glimmer of something in his eyes.

“He’s not...a bad male,” she says, hating how the whole conversation is going. “I wouldn’t let him know them if he were.”

“I know,” he says. And here his eyes are firm. “I know that more than anything you’re a loving mother. But Nesta...just make sure this is the right decision.”

His words echo Amorette’s and Adil’s and Miri’s and she still manages to hear something different each time.

* * *

November 16 - Year of

Over a month had passed since she had entered Illyria, and she had settled into a routine that she couldn’t quite call comfortable--it was Fae, after all--it was no longer painful.

She did not have to avoid her sisters or any of Feyre’s friends because they were not there, and she did not feel bad about ignoring her sisters letters (left on the kitchen counter for her by Cassian) because she was still too angry at them. No one in Illyria initiated conversation with her, but they had grown used to her presence. They were not comfortable around her either, but they no longer balked in the streets.

Cassian’s very presence still irritated her, obviously, but he did seem busy with whatever it was he had to do around the camps and did not spend so much time bothering her. In fact, he seemed content to continue that strange newfound civility between them and no longer stood at her door, alternating between begging and annoying and pleading. If she saw him in the morning or in the evening, he would ask her how work was going, if she would join him for a meal. She answered him the same every time.

She didn’t like it. She didn’t like ignoring everything but she knew she wouldn’t like the alternative either. The thing she still desired most of all was to disappear, for her life to be undone, to never have happened.

It was not a perfect second, but she was making do.

Perhaps the most peculiar part of this latest version of her life was the camaraderie she and her employer shared.

They did not share meals every day, but sometimes they did, and Emerie would walk Nesta at least part of the way back to Cassian’s house every evening. They didn’t always talk, but the silence wasn’t grating. It was easy. It was...fine.

Fine was a lot for Nesta. It had been a long while since she’d had fine.

One day, as Nesta was finishing up her bookkeeping for the day, Emerie said, “Are you coming tonight?”

Nesta looked up. Emerie never had too drastic an expression on her face, and her only tell that she was asking a question was her chin slightly jutted out and her right eyebrow slightly raised. “What?” she said.

“To the bonfires.”

“What bonfires?” Nesta said, and it was a mark of how she valued this shaky relationship and respected Emerie that she did not immediately say no, for Nesta hated bonfires. It was always too cold outside, but standing by the fires was too hot, and she hated the smell. And there were always little children running around, which made her anxious. A little boy in her village had once gotten monstrous burns on his face at the bonfires celebrating the Summer Solstice.

“It’s just to have them,” Emerie said. “Not really a holiday. There are separate bonfires for females.”

“What do they do?”

Emerie shrugged. “There are some females with fire magic. They make shapes in the flames. There’s music. Food.”

“Sounds delightful,” Nesta said flatly.

“You should come with me,” Emerie said. “There are smoked desserts.”

Nesta pursed her lips. She didn’t want to go, obviously, but...if Emerie was asking her....

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”

Emerie didn’t smile, but she nodded, and her expression looked a bit less severe.

* * *

October 30 - 4 years after

The day is over all too soon, and her children are clamoring to go to the park and meet her sisters from the moment she picks them up from nursery.

“I want to go right now!” Nicky says. “I don’t want to go home first!”

“We have to go home and eat first, Nicky,” Nesta repeats herself. “I don’t have any food with me.”

“We can take a snack to the park!”

“We can take a snack to the park, but we still have to go home and get the snack.”

“Why didn’t you bring the snack with you?”

“I came here from work.”

“Why?”

Nesta normally entertains Nicky’s why game, but she’s too anxious to today. Instead she says, “Let’s go, you three.”

“What are our neighbors’ names?” Nicky says.

“They’re not our neighbors, Nicky,” Avery reminds him.

“Why not?”

“Because they don’t live here!” Ollie says, rather suddenly. Nesta hides a smile. Perhaps she isn’t the only one who doesn’t feel like playing Nicky’s game.

“All right, let’s go,” she says, herding them along.

“What  _ are _ their names, Mummy?” Avery says.

Nesta swallows. “Elain and Feyre.”

“Is Appa coming?” she asks.

“Maybe...but we’ll see him for dinner.”

“He’s not coming to the park?”

“Maybe, Nicky.”

“Don’t ask why again!” Ollie says. He sounds almost angry.

Nesta looks down at him in surprise.

“Ollie, what’s wrong?”

“He’s always asking why about everything and I don’t like it!” Ollie starts tugging on his golden brown hair with his fists.

“All right,” Nesta says, gently taking his hands. “Avery, Nicky, why don’t you go ahead? Not too far.”

She ushers them along and picks Ollie up into her arms. “Hey,” she says to him softly. “What’s wrong.”

Ollie won’t meet her eyes. He shrugs and tries to twist away, but she holds him firmly.

“Did something happen at nursery today?”

“No.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Are you tired?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want a nap before going to the park?”

Ollie shrugs again, but his eyes start to blur with angry tears.

“Oh, Ollie,” she says, hugging him close to her. She strokes his hair. “What’s wrong, my angel?”

“I don’t know!” he sobs. “I don’t want to go to the park.”

Nesta shifts him so she can see his face as she begins to understand. “You don’t want to go to the park or you don’t want to meet your aunts?”

He shrugs again.

“Why don’t you want to meet them?” Her heart skips a beat. “Do you...are you sad you met Appa?” She’s almost too scared to ask.

“No,” he says quietly, and exhales in relief.

“What’s the problem?”

Ollie rubs his eyes and says quietly, “I don’t want you to go.”

Nesta frowns. “Go?” she says. “Where do you think I’m going to go?”

Ollie’s eyes well up with tears again. “I don’t know!” he says. “You’re going to go and leave us with Appa and our new aunts.”

“Oh, Ollie,” she says, bringing him closer to her again.

“Like how you leave us with Amorette sometimes,” he says, slightly muffled.

“Just for a few hours, angel,” she says. “I’m never going to leave you for more than that.” She puts him down and crouches so that she’s eye level with him. “I know it’s...a lot of new people you’re meeting.” She brushes hair out of his eyes and wipes his cheeks. “But I’m still your mummy and your still my baby and at the end of every day, I’m going to be the one to tuck you into bed...all right?”

“Do you promise?” he says tearfully.

Nesta smiles at him. “I promise.” She kisses him on his forehead. “Let’s go catch up to your brother and sister, all right?”

She takes his hand and leads him forward to the end of the pavement were Avery and Nicky are waiting. Avery takes her other hand and Nicky takes Ollie’s.

“Do your eyes hurt, Ollie?” Nicky says sympathetically.

“No.”

“Not anymore?”

“No.”

Her sons keep their hands linked even when they reach they pavement again, and chatter amongst themselves, and so she says to Avery, “How was your day?”

“Good, I played with Emilia and Zehra outside and then I went back inside and....”

Before long they are at home again and she’s packing snacks for the park while they play in the living room, and then there’s a knock on the door.

“I want to open it!” Nicky cries and rushes towards it. She can hear him open it and laugh as Cassian walks in and lifts him up.

They clamber around him and he herds them into the kitchen. “Hey,” he says, walking in and setting Nicky down. “Ready to go?”

Nesta slips the bag she’s packed over her shoulder and keeps her expression blank and voice cool. “Ready. Go get your coats,” she tells her children, and they dash outside.

Cassian steps closer to her. “Nesta,” he says. “I...really appreciate--”

“Let’s just go,” she interrupts. The sooner this is over the sooner her heart rate can go back to normal.

Or not. But one can hope.

* * *

November 3 - 1 year after

Sorting through the books and dusting the shelves proved a harder task than keeping books for Emerie, because Emerie at least tried to keep her shop neat. The staff at Sugar Books clearly made no such effort.

There was no system, which Nesta knew must have affected sales, because people didn’t come into a shop for any book; they wanted something specific. And if there was no aisle for their preferred genre, and they didn’t have the time to sift through the mess to find what they wanted....

So even though it was not strictly Nesta’s job, she found herself drawn to sales. She’d try and figure out how much they were spending on books and how much they were making, but she didn’t yet know enough to guess and she wasn’t familiar enough with the marketing people to ask.

It was...enjoyable, she guessed, to just try and figure it out. She missed working with numbers.

Dusting was easily the worst part of her job. It had always been her least favorite chore and there seemed to be so much of it to do. On every shelf, between every book, even inside some of them.

But the highlight of her day, her distraction that she still had not received her sisters’ reply and everything she had left behind, and the reason she was most excited for the job was the reading. She had not been around so many books in over a year, and she had missed it terribly. There were so many things she had not yet read.

So whenever she could, in between dusting and jotting out ideas for sales, she’d pick out something that looked interesting enough and start reading. Adil had helped her set up a bank account and she was going to be staying at the inn until she could afford to rent an apartment (the female at the bank had set her up on a payment plan), and it was rather strict, so she knew she wasn’t able to afford any books now. But she had a list of some she’d like to buy, one day. Perhaps in a year or so, when she was already living properly on her own, and had started paying off the inn.

She was reading one such book, in a quiet corner of the shop, when one of the less pleasant aspects of working at Sugar Books appeared and interrupted her.

“Hi, Nesta!” chirped Zeyn. “What are you reading? Is that a J.M. Polister? He’s good, but I like his sister more. They’re twins. Twin writers, isn’t that something?”

Nesta gritted her teeth. “Hello, Zeyn,” she said, closing her book.

He grinned, his brown eyes twinkling. “Am I annoying you?” he said, laughing. “Sorry. I know you don’t like when I talk so much.”

Nesta never knew what to say when he said things like that. She never really knew what to say to the people in Sugar Valley in general. They were all so...nice. She wasn’t used to it.

“Oh, not at all,” she said. “I’ve got to go back to work.”

“Dusting? Let me help you.”

“No,” she said firmly. Then she said, “You have your own work to do.”

Zeyn said, “Oh...you’re right. I’ll come help you dust later. It’s not fair to make you do it all.”

“I’m being paid,” she said.

He laughed and walked away.

He did that often. Laughed at things she said.

He wasn’t horrible, but he was...irritating. No, not even irritating. Not in the way  _ he _ used to irritate her. Just...slightly bothersome. Someone she could do without. A bit of a pest. But harmless, on the whole.

Nesta didn’t have time for harmless. Not right now. Perhaps...one day...if she ever felt that way again....

She didn’t think she would. She had another male’s mark on her, like it had been branded into her soul and the thought of ever being with anyone else sickened her to her core and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to stomach it.

This was a different pain than before. When she had been with all those males before, it had been, at first, in anger. Having meaningless sex to prove she could. Whom exactly she was proving it to, she wasn’t sure.

After that, it wasn’t exactly power she had found in it. But it was more proof. Proof she owned her body, proof it was still hers, even if it was different. Reclaiming herself.

Sometimes it was just to do something.

But then she’d ruined that outlet, by having sex that was by no stretch of the imagination meaningless. And now she thought that every time she felt a hand on her, she’d think of him, and it’d  _ hurt _ .

So she did not encourage the irritating deer-satyr male. She honestly didn’t like him that much, anyway.

Even if he did bring her coffee sometime.

* * *

October 30 - 4 years after

Elain and Feyre are waiting for them at the park when they arrive.

Cassian can’t tell what Nesta’s thinking the whole way there. She keeps her face normal, or what normal is for her around the children. It’s still so odd to see her so...happy. Even during those few months between them, when they were...even then she was reserved.

But she is quick to smile. The triplets don’t see her upset, he doesn’t think.

He’s good at keeping his expression schooled how he wants it to, of course. So grins easily, swings Ava and Ollie’s hands as the walk.

But on the inside, his stomach is flipping around. It’s like everyday with his children and Nesta is better than the last, but harder, too.

This is so important. It has to go well.

Elain leaps up when she sees them. Feyre stands up after her and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Are those our neighbors?” Nicky says.

“ _ Aunts _ , Nicky.”

Nicky only laughs. “They look like Mummy!”

Cassian’s eyes dart to Nesta, but her expression has not changed.

“Hi,” Elain says softly, when they reach them. She looks at Nesta and then Cassian and then crouches down, so she is eye-level with the children. Ollie shrinks into Nesta’s leg. “I’m Elain.”

“And I’m Feyre,” Feyre says, joining Elain on her knees.

“You look like Mummy!” Nicky says again, sounding delighted.

Feyre and Elain look up at him, and his lips quirk upwards. “He says you look like Nesta.”

“You must be Nicky,” Elain says, smiling at him. “And you’re Avery...and you’re Ollie.”

Cassian watches Ollie clutch Nesta harder. She bends down and cradles him close to her.

“Why don’t you go and play?” she tells the other two.

Feyre, Elain, and he look towards Nesta. “You can join them,” she says. “Ollie and I are going to sit on the bench for a bit.”

They watch Nesta go and have a whispered conversation with Ollie. She peppers kisses on his forehead here and there.

“She loves him so much,” Feyre says, her voice so faint he doesn’t think she realizes she spoke aloud.

“They’re so beautiful,” Elain says. “I...is Ollie okay?”

“He’s a bit shy,” he says. “I’m sure that’s it. Come, let’s...why don’t you two join Ava and Nicky?” Because he’s not sure Ollie’s fine and he wants to sit down with him, too.

“What, just go and...?”

“Just join them over there,” Cassian says. “Help them on the slides. Or the swings. Climb up in with them. Ava will probably tell you what to do.” He smiles and nods at them encouragingly. He guesses they’re feeling about as nervous as he was the first time he played with them.

He sits down next to Nesta on the bench. “Hi, Ollie,” he says.

Ollie peaks out from Nesta’s neck. “Hi,” he says, his voice tiny and matching Nesta’s accent.

“Do you know, your Aunt Feyre can fly too?”

Ollie looks up at Nesta and she nods at him. “It’s true. She can.”

“Do you want to show her how fast you can fly?”

Ollie shrugs. He still has not let go of Nesta, and he feels a rush of gratitude towards her--she does not rush him, does not make him do things he is scared of, and then  _ he _ feels scared, because what if he is afraid forever? He won’t love him any less, but what will happen to him? His world is terrifying; what if Ollie can’t ever be a part of it? Assuming this goes well, assuming Nesta lets. And dear Mother, what if this doesn’t go well? What if--?

“Why don’t we all go?” Nesta says, cutting into his spiraling train of thought. “I think Avery and Nicky want you to come play with them.”

Indeed, Ava looks completely content to command her aunts around, but Nicky has turned to call Ollie’s name.

Ollie mumbles his assent and they stand and walk over to where the rest of their party is.

“Ollie, come stand over here,” Ava says. “Behind me.”

“You ready to go?” Nesta whispers to him. “All right, then.” She sets him down and he climbs to Ava.

“What was wrong?” he says to Nesta.

“Later,” she says, under her breath. She is watching them all intently, eyes darting between her sisters and her children.

Elain seems thrilled, eagerly participating in whatever game Ava has created for them, though she clearly cannot understand half of what she says. Feyre seems more anxious but plays along as well. Briefly, Cassian wonders if she and Rhys have spoken of children, if they are trying or if they want any soon. He sees a vivid vision in his mind’s eye of sharing a Solstice morning with gifts and food in the riverfront home in Velaris, Nesta at his side and Feyre and Rhys and half a dozen children running around and his heart lurches. It’s a scene from one of Nesta’s human books, where people have cousins and big houses and--

He cuts himself off. He needs to get a grip on himself; this is getting ridiculous.

“They’re having fun,” he tells Nesta.

“Hmm,” she says, non-committal.

He hides a grin: it  _ is _ going well. Nesta does not intervene, she only watches them, and he decides to stand by her side. She doesn’t mention anything about that, either, but she doesn’t push him away and she doesn’t leave herself.

His thoughts turn to the male. Zeyn. He’s in love with her, but is Nesta in love with him?

It doesn’t matter. That...that’s not what he’s here for.

_ Isn’t it, though?  _ some wry voice inside his head says.  _ Isn’t that exactly what you’re here for? _

The sun has nearly sunk out of the sky when Nesta calls, “All right, five minute warning.”

“I’m going to run all the way over there!” Nicky yells back. He shoots off to the other side of the park and Ava follows, holding Ollie’s hand.

Elain laughs. She and Feyre rejoin them.

“Well!” she says. “That’s quite a workout they gave me! Are they always like that?”

“Like what?” Nesta says, voice cool.

“You know,” Elain waves her hand. “Energetic.”

“They’re three.”

“We didn’t mean in a bad way,” Feyre says. “We just...we haven’t been around children.”

“Well, that’s how three-year-olds are.”

“We know. Well. Now we know.”

Feyre looks at Cassian. He wishes she wouldn’t--he knows she doesn’t expect or want him to think of her as his High Lady in a situation such as this one, but it’s in his blood and he can’t help it.

But Nesta at his side is in his blood too. They know all too well what happened last time with both of them on either side and no one wants a repeat of that.

Luckily, Elain speaks again. “Do you play with them, too, Nesta?”

Or perhaps unluckily.

“Of course I do,” she says through gritted teeth.

“No, no,” Elain says hurriedly. “I meant, at the park. I just--because you didn’t--here, I mean--”

“They are perfectly sociable,” Nesta says, clearly struggling to keep her voice normal. “Where do you think they learned that?”

“No, I’m sure, I just...I only meant...” Elain looks to Feyre for help.

“Oh, well, we don’t remember you ever liking to play outside when we were little,” Feyre says.

Cassian winces. That was the wrong response.

It’s easier for Nesta to be cold with Feyre than it is with Elain. “You’re aware of the fact that I’m their mother?” she says, her tone icy.

Elain pales.

“Of course,” Feyre says quickly. “We weren’t--just, we don’t really think of you--”

“Well, you’ve not known me as mother, have you?” Nesta says, and her voice grows higher-pitched as she talks, like it always does when she’s angry.

“No--that came out wrong--we’re sure--we know you’re--”

“Please Nesta,” Elain begs. “This went so well, we had so much fun, please don’t...”

“Don’t  _ what _ ?”

Feyre and Elain fall silent. They look lost, Feyre searching Nesta’s face wildly, as if she can read the right thing to say on it.

But Cassian knows. The best course of action to take with Nesta is to stay quiet.

For a moment, he thinks they won’t say anything. They’ll part ways slightly upset, but Nesta will hear the children chatter about how they had fun and they’d like to play with their aunts again and she’d let them. Perhaps a bit bitter, but they would have more time to work at that.

And then Feyre blurts out, “It’s just odd to think of you as Mother.”

Her faces bleaches, and Cassian knows she regrets it as soon as she says it.

Nesta had told him of their mother. That was the exact wrong thing to say.

“Nesta, wait, I didn’t mean--”

“We’re leaving,” she says immediately, marching over to call back the children.

“Oh... _ shit _ , I didn’t mean--”

“Why would you  _ say _ that--”

“I’m sorry, Elain, I didn’t mean--gods, Cassian, you’ll tell her?--oh, I know I--I didn’t mean it, I swear, she just looks so much like her! And watching her stand over there--”

“You shouldn’t have said anything!” Elain says, angrier than he’s ever heard her. 

“I know, I didn’t mean it!” Feyre looks as though she’s about to cry. “I know she’s...I mean...I’m sure...”

Cassian rubs his face. “All right,” he says. “I will...I will go and....”

“I’m sorry, Cassian,” Feyre says miserably.

“I know,” he says, voice heavy.

“I’m an idiot,” she says. “I...I’m so sorry. Tell her...at least tell her to let Elain see them again.”

“I’ll...let you know,” he says. “I’ll...I’ll...I’ll see you.”

He doesn’t linger to hear Elain berate Feyre anymore or Feyre’s apologies. He  _ knows  _ Feyre regrets it and he’s sure Nesta does too, but with Nesta, that’s not the point. The point is doing the wrong thing in the first place.

He can’t begrudge Feyre, though. And he hopes Nesta will forgive that, because if she doesn’t, then, well...what prayer does he have or her forgiving him?

* * *

November 16 - Year of

Nesta wrapped her cloak tighter around her, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the fires. She’s far enough away that she can’t make out the words of the young girls watching the shapes some of the older females are making in the flames, but she could hear their laughter.

“Here,” Emerie said, appearing at her side and thrusting a steaming bowl towards her. “It’s...smoked hazelnut.”

“How do you say hazelnut in Illyrian?” she asked, taking it from her.

“ _ Luz _ ,” she replied. “Come by the fire.”

They walked side-by-side, closer to the gaggles of young girls, and, sitting down, Emerie said, “Can you see the colors?”

“What?”

“In the flames,” she said, gesturing. “The white.”

And she could see, the white that tinted purple and blue deeper in the pits. “It’s fire,” Nesta said.

“There’s a story,” Emerie said.

Nesta had always loved stories. She didn’t say anything; merely looked on.

“It is said there was an Illyrian female,” she said, “who one day grew tired with her people and stole magic from the fires of her camp. When the people found out, they threw her in the pits, but the fire resisted burning her. Her bones are still inside. That’s what makes the flames white.”

Nesta was quiet for a moment. “That’s a horrible story. And you don’t tell it well.”

“If it’s such a horrible story, why does it matter how well I tell it?”

“You could have made it better.”

“These mountains are too cold to grant every female a happy ending.”

“A story doesn’t need a happy ending to be good,” Nesta said, “but you might have drawn it out a bit more. Spoke of her magic. You might have at least given her a name.”

“She has no name,” Emerie said. “Like you said, it’s fire. It’s white. She never existed.”

“Then why did you tell me the story?”

Emerie shrugged slightly. “It was told to me.”

They are quiet for a few minutes.

Nesta broke it first. “It has potential. A fire witch...whose spirit lingers on.”

“Are you a storyteller, then?”

“No,” Nesta said. Long ago, she had told her sisters stories before bed, or on rainy days, but so many years ago...she doubted Feyre even remembered. “I like to read.”

“Here, that’s more or less the same.”

“There’s no library or bookstore here.”

“There’s no need.”

“What makes you a warrior race?”

Now Emerie was quiet. “Just how things are.”

Nesta ate some of her  _ luz _ . It didn’t sit quite right with her. She didn’t know why.

* * *

October 30 - 4 years later

Cassian is waiting for her in the living room. He leaps up from his seat when she enters. She ignores him and walks past him into the kitchen.

“Nesta,” he says, following her. “I--I know that didn’t...I know it didn’t go well.”

Nesta bites her tongue. She feels as though she is about to burst. She’s feeling so much, she doesn’t even know what she is feeling.

“Do you...understand...what my children are to me?”

“Yes--”

“Do you understand what I have sacrificed for them?”

“Yes, Nes--”

“No, you don’t! You think you can just waltz in here, come and go back to Velaris as you please, while I stay and--do you know what every day is like? It is not two hours at the park. You haven’t seen them sick. You haven’t seen any of them throw a tantrum! You haven’t seen them cry!” To her horror, as she says the words, Nesta can feel her own eyes start to burn--and is that something silver shining in Cassian’s, as well? “You have  _ no _ idea, and you have  _ no _ right--”

“I know, Nesta--”

“I am a  _ good _ mother--”

“Nesta, I  _ know _ ! I’m sorry! I--you’re right; they shouldn’t have come.”

Nesta has opened her mouth to say more, but she promptly closes it. She wasn’t expecting him to say that. If she’s entirely honest with herself...she’s not quite sure she even believes her own words.

“And I...I stand by you, on your decisions,” he says, his voice weak. “I just...I want to be in your lives.”

He takes a step closer as Nesta starts to move back, but he takes her hands and pulls her closer to him. She doesn’t move away.

“Please, Nesta,” he says. “I’m sorry...for rushing this...you were right, this was...bad timing. Please don’t send me away, too.”

Nesta looks away. “I’m not going to send  _ you _ away,” she says, and her voice is soft. “I want you to be with them.”

He looses a shaky breath. “All right. All right. Good. Thank you. That’s...all right.”

He doesn’t let go of her hands and Nesta doesn’t pull away. She slowly moves her eyes back to his face.

He catches her gaze and locks her in. “We’ll take a step back,” he says. “My...endgame...hasn’t changed. I still hope that you’ll want the same one day. But...on your time. I know you’re a good mother. I know...I trust you with them.”

She once might’ve picked a fight at his word choice, but she finally admits to herself: she  _ does  _ want to be a single functioning unit. Where their children are concerned, of course. So she instead she pulls her hands away and starts walking out of the kitchen and says, “You can...sleep in the guest room, if you’d like.”

He can’t stay forever, she knows. He’s not going to stop being the General Commander. She doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to stay; not this time and not any other times in the future. She doesn’t even know if he can be able to come at any set pattern. There’s only one way to ensure that, and she refuses to think about it.

So she’ll take what he can give them. At least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that!! Please let me know what you think in the comments <3  
Thank you for reading!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gossip Girl voice* Surprised to see me? Don't be.  
For whatever reason, I wrote over 2.5k words today. Yeah, TODAY! And what with my wonderful beta Gabriela being wonderful, less than half an hour after miraculously finishing this chapter in a day (ONE DAY!!), I bequeath this unto you.  
Enjoy!

October 30 - 4 years after

Feyre and Elain are silent at the room in the inn while they wait for Cassian to return. But he doesn’t. Not all night.

Feyre’s miserably upset at herself, running the whole thing over in her mind, again and again, wishing she had just not said anything. They were already on thin ice with her, and they knew that Nesta was letting them rush her, and that she’d be looking for any reason to pull herself and her children out of the agreement. And thanks to Feyre, she didn’t have to look very far.

She could have just not said anything. That’s what she keeps thinking. How many times had Nesta granted her the same courtesy, bit her tongue around Feyre’s family? Nearly every gathering. 

She hadn’t meant it maliciously; she is sure Nesta knows that.

“All right,” Elain says, suddenly, grudgingly, “don’t...don’t kill yourself over this.”

Feyre looks up. “I didn’t mean it,” she says, her voice weak.

“I know.” Elain sounds more like herself now: gentle, comforting. “And she...she knows too. It’ll take her a while, but Cassian...” Elain trails off.

_ Will _ Cassian sway Nesta’s forgiveness? Or will he not want to risk her anger turning on him?

Neither of them know.

“We’ll try again when Cassian says she’s agreed to it,” Elain decides.

That’s all they have left to do.

* * *

November 9 - 1 year after

Sugar Books was very different than Emerie’s shop for a myriad of reasons, but Nesta thought the main one was that here, her boss did not particularly care what she was doing.

It was the oddest thing, especially considering all Sugar Valley natives were deeply invested in each other’s going-ons. But Adil did not appear to care what she did nor what the other employees did. He had tasks for them, sure, but he did not seem to every check in on anyone. He never gave Nesta more detailed instructions than  _ Organize this _ . In fact, he hardly spoke to her at all.

So she jumped when he said to her, “You don’t like humans?”

She was on her break (no one told her to take breaks, she just took them intermittently), reading a book in one of the corners of the store. She hadn’t seen him come up behind her. “What?”

He gestured to the book. “You have a look on your face. That’s a human novel. You don’t like them?”

Nesta closed the book and showed him the cover. “It’s faerie-authored, about humans,” she said. “And I...like humans just fine. But they’re poorly written here.”

“You know a lot about writing humans?” He didn’t say it condescendingly, but sounded rather skeptical.

Despite herself, Nesta’s lip twitched upwards. “I’m...very well versed in human nature and human literature.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve read more human-authored novels than otherwise,” she said, which was true, but probably wouldn’t be for much longer. “And I...lived amongst them.” She hadn’t told that to anyone in Sugar Valley. No one here knew who she really was.

Adil’s eyebrows shot upwards. “You  _ lived _ amongst humans?”

I t sounded...silly, when he said it. Living amongst humans. But...it  _ was _ true. “I did. For...for over twenty years.”

" Hmm,” he said, squinting at her. “Come with me.”

Rubbish book still in her hands, she followed him through the back room, to his office. He reached under his desk and pulled up a box. “Recognize any of these?” he said, opening it and motioning her to come look.

Nesta peered inside.

Classic, mostly. Some newer ones, popular authors from the Continent.

All human.

“Yes,” she said, softly, picking up one of them and inspecting it. An old favorite...she hadn’t seen a copy in years.... “I need a human-authored archivist,” he said. “That entails reading all the books in a timely manner, fixing them up--perhaps adding ink, spining--and setting a price. Is that something you’d be interested in?”

Nesta blinked at him.

“It’d be more hours, but it’d pay better than your current position.”

Nesta pursed her lips. “Are you...offering me an archivist’s position...because I like to read?”

Adil frowned. “You love books.”

“All right, I love to read. What difference does it make?”

“I didn’t say you love to read. I said you love books. That’s what I need. You were reading that book even though you didn’t like it...why?”

N esta shrugged. “I wanted to see how it ended. It was poorly written, but...compelling...the way a carriage wreck is, I suppose.”

"T hat’s all I need in my archivists,” he insisted. “A love of books.”

Ne sta looked into the box again. A love of books...was not, in her opinion, a brilliant business strategy.

“It’s yours if you want it,” he said.

But this was not her business. And it was better pay.

And she  _ did _ love books.

“I do,” she said. “I can start...now.”

Adil nodded once. “Then get Zeyn to show you what to do,” he said, already turning to leave, “and take that box with you.”

* * *

October 31 - 4 years after

Nesta feels Cassian’s presence the moment she wakes up; in her blood and bones, so intense she forgets where she is. She feels for a moment that she is in his house in Illyria.

Then she remembers. She is at her home in Sugar Valley and her children are lying in their beds waiting for her, and that thought pulls her out of bed.

She feels indescribably strange as she readies herself for the day. She’s picking out clothes and preparing herself in her bathing room--and he’s  _ there _ . He was here while she slept and he is here while she’s changing and he’ll be there for breakfast.

But she sees him even before that; for when she leaves her bedroom to go to the children’s, he is there, waiting for her.

“Good morning,” he says, the moment he sees her.

“Good morning,” she replies, caught off guard. 

“Do they...get up themselves? Or....”

“Only when I want to sleep in,” she says, with a small smile. “No, I normally wake them. They generally stay in bed until I come in.

“Oh,” he says. Hesitates. “Can I...?”

She shrugs. “All right.” She walks past him to open the door.

Nesta lowers herself by Avery first and bends down to kiss her cheek. “Good morning, ladybug,” she says to her.

Avery groans a little as she writhes in her bed and opens her eyes slowly. They pop and she sits up when she sees Cassian. “Appa!” she says, excited, and launches herself forward to hug him.

Nicky and Ollie stir at their sister’s cry. Ollie sees Cassian first and kicks off his own sheets and rushes to them as well. Nicky follows suit.

Nesta goes stiff even as her heart spasms at the sight of the four of them holding onto each other and laughing--she is thrilled they are happy, but doesn’t know how long this will last. Cassian’s not going to be here every morning. He doesn’t exactly have a job that guarantees weekends off.

(And she is...perhaps...the tiniest bit jealous. They have never thrown themselves at  _ her _ in the morning.)

No matter, she tells herself. “Brush your teeth, you three,” she says, and she motions for Cassian to follow her out of the room.

Nicky bounds after them, as usual. “We’re going downstairs with Mummy  _ and _ Appa?” he asks, the sheer exhilaration in his voice more than enough to make her regret her earlier envy.

She is their constant. Cassian is new. And they feel the same connection. He is their father, she is their mother--there  _ is _ the same connection, and they  _ must _ feel it. That’s why they’re excited.

Nicky grabs her hand and Cassian’s and pulls them down the stairs, and she will not allow herself to dwell on her complicity in keeping them all separated. Not while her son is clinging to her and babbling on about what he wants for breakfast and what he will do today at nursery and if Appa will be home after nursery, too, and if they can go to the park again, and will his aunts be at the park?

Nesta grimaces to herself--she doesn’t want to think of Feyre and Elain now, either.

She has enough to deal with. How to...work her way around the kitchen with Cassian inside as well. Will they make breakfast together? Will they both try and convince Avery to drink more juice?

The thought, she is surprised to realize, is a warm one. Having...a partner...whom Avery sees as Nesta’s equal....

But this is all far too much for so early in the morning. So Nesta rids her mind of the countless unwanted thoughts swirling through her head and starts making them breakfast.

* * *

November 17 - Year of

She had come home late last night from the bonfires. He could feel that she wasn’t in the house when he arrived, and heard her come in from his room. The smoky smell had woven itself in her hair and she carried it in with her. He didn’t like it much; it obscured her own scent.

But he was thrilled about one thing--if she was ready for a night out at a bonfire with over a hundred Illyrians she didn’t know, she was ready for breakfast with him.

She normally got up early now, what with her new job. But perhaps Emerie had told her to take her time today, because he only heard her rise past nine.

Cassian tried not to hum to himself as he worked his way around the kitchen, but he couldn’t help it. Nesta was going to sit for a meal with him. They’d have a real civilised conversation. Maybe even pleasant. And then she’d go to work and she’d come home and they'd have dinner together...and then...and then...what?

He wasn’t entirely sure what was going to happen. He knew what Feyre  _ wanted _ to happen--Nesta would have enough time and space to cool down, and after a few months, she’d ask to be brought back to Velaris, and pick up where she left off with her sisters when Feyre first came back from Prythian.

Thinking through the plan now, Cassian couldn’t help but scoff at their own naivety. Well, his and Feyre’s naivety. He was sure Rhys thought Nesta was beyond all hope, and he didn’t know why Amren had thought this was a good idea.

But now he feared Illyria wasn’t cooling Nesta off; it was freezing her in a different way. The nothing in her eyes was gone, sure, but the fire was not back.

He  _ missed _ her.

He straightened as he felt her behind him. “Good morning,” he said, not sharing any of the whirlwind of emotions he felt inside him in his voice.

“Good morning,” she replied, carefully, after a beat.

“Breakfast?” he said, still keeping his voice casual. He slid the omelet he had made her onto a plate and turned around to see her.

“Sure,” she said, taking his offering.

Cassian fought back a grin.  _ Sure _ was like  _ thank you _ from Nesta.

She sat down at the table. He did too.

S he didn’t object.

“Coffee?”

“No,” she said. Then she added, “That’s all right.”

_ Another _ alternative to thank you. This was going well.

“So,” he said, watching her cut the omelet into small pieces and eat it, “you came home rather late last night.”

Nesta lowered her fork. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him.

Ah. Wrong thing to say. He shouldn’t push her too far. “You were at the bonfire, right?” He made himself sound like he didn’t care too much, and stood up while he said it to go to the fridge. He pretended he was mindlessly browsing when he said, “Was it fun?”

Nesta was quiet for a moment. Then she slowly went back to her omelet. “It was all right.”

“Oh, did you try the smoked hazelnut? Sweet, right?” He stopped himself before he said,  _ Like chocolate. _

For the bar still lay there on the counter, both of them dutifully ignoring it.

Nesta muttered something noncommittal. He didn’t blame her.  _ Sweet, right? _ What a stupid thing to say.

“Well,” he said, returning to the table with two glasses and a jug of orange juice. “Nice that you had a good time with Emerie. Maybe next time you’ll come with me to a bonfire.” He looked up to grin at her from pouring the juice.

Nesta put down her fork forcefully and straightened--no easy task, considering she was always so stiffly upright, anyway. Except when she was reading, of course.

“Do you think,” Nesta began, her tone harsh and cold as the ice he feared these mountains had made her, “that I have forgotten that you are entirely complicit in my exile to this backwater region? Do you think I have simply moved on from the fact you all saw it fit to leave me here for days on my own with no one else I know, in a _ war camp  _ full of people who hate and fear me?”

It was the most she had said to him in nearly a year. His eyes widened as he watched hers fill with some sort of power-- _ her _ power.

Did she mean...was she talking about when he left to the neighboring camps? That she was...scared? When he left her?

“Allow me to assure you,” she continued, face set in her perfect, contained rage, “I have  _ not _ forgotten, and I will  _ never _ forget.”

And with that, she stood up and stalked out of the kitchen.

Cassian put down the jug of orange juice he had squeezed himself that morning and walked over to the liquor cabinet.

She hated him, so it was not too early for whiskey, but it was far too late for freshly squeezed orange juice.

_ Well _ , he thought miserably,  _ at least we talked _ .

* * *

October 31 - 4 years after

Rhys is waiting for them when they arrive. Elain hadn’t expected anything else, but she’s still annoyed. She’s not yet forgiven him for...everything.

“How was it?” Rhys asked. “Cassian...he stayed?”

“It was going perfectly well until I ruined it,” Feyre tells him, and although Elain doesn’t want her sister to dwell on their sorrows, she doesn’t disagree. “Cassian told us to leave. He’s going to be staying there for a while.”

Rhys frowns. “What about the armies?”

“He says he trusts the Illyrian camp lords to run everything themselves for a while, and the other forces in the Southern territory effectively run themselves anyway,” Feyre says, shrugging. “I told him to take as much time as he needs.”

Rhys nods, and, although she is still upset with him, Elain allows him this: he never places his word above Feyre’s.

“Maybe...you should go alone next time, Elain,” Feyre says to her. “I mean, she might not be angry with you. Or at least, she’ll forgive you sooner.”

Elain is not in the mood to hear Rhys soothe Feyre and quickly says, “I’m just going to get settled back in now,” and leaves before he can start.

S he hears him say, “Why do you think you ruined it?”

Elain feels a loose tug on her ribs when she shuts the door to her room. She ignores it and pulls up her shields tighter.

It appears there is more than one irritating male mate around today.

The thought is so Nesta-like it makes her laugh out loud. Her heart aches, but...she met her niece and nephews. Her beautiful niece and nephews, perfect and small and like the best parts of Nesta and Cassian.

And some of her! Ollie’s hair is like hers! And Ava’s face; as similar to hers and Feyre’s as they are to Nesta. And Nicky’s going to have the same lips she does. She can tell.

So despite it all, Elain can’t help but smile as she undresses and steps into the back.

Nesta will not stay mad at them forever. And when she is finally ready to let them back into her life, there will be more love than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope all y'all are enjoying the new decade so far! And whatever you celebrated, hope it was lovely! My Hanukkah was great; I got a purse that looks like book! (I mean, it was purchased. I haven't received it yet. But whatever. Details.)  
I would love to hear what you think of this chapter or the fic in general. Or anything! Come talk to me on my tumblr @ladynestaarcheron. There are links there to all my other obsessions!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, babes! Here I am just two weeks after chapter ten with chapter eleven. My secret is I'm actually procrastinating writing an essay and working on my novel.  
Thanks so much to my marvelous beta Gabriela, and to all of you beautiful readers! I've gotten over 60 comments, 350 Kudos, and 5000 hits which is all just...amazing. I love you guys so much and I am so, so grateful.  
I hope you enjoy--I'm so excited to share this chapter with all of y'all.

November 2 - 4 years after

When Hazar finally arrives at the shop, Maz, Amir, and Xeyale start to tell the whole staff what happened at Amalike Orchards’ berry fair.

“Chokecherry already had booths set up when we got there,” Maz says, grimacing. “With Morrisey’s new novel.”

“And they had agents with them,” Xeyale adds.

Adil frowns. “What do you mean, agents?”

“Publishing agents.”

“They were signing authors  _ at the fair _ ?” Hazar asks, disbelief all over his normally cheerful face.

“Not exactly,” Xeyale says.

“They were taking in manuscripts,” Amir says. “For short stories, we think. We think their plan is to publish a collection of them.”

“And that’s their brilliant archiving strategy?” Nesta says. “Just taking any short story from any writer who shows up at the berry fair and tying it all together into a book?” She shares a look with Adil.  _ No one appreciates the art of literature anymore _ .

“It is a brilliant strategy,” Hazar says, reluctant to admit it.

“We think so, too,” Amir says, and Xeyale nods behind them. Before any of them can protest, Amir raises their hands in surrender. “Look, you’re all archivists. Readers. Some of you are writers. But from publishing and marketing standpoints...it goes faster. If one author writes a three hundred page novel, that one author has to have a good idea and a good execution. Or people won’t buy it. But if you get ten authors each writing thirty pages...even if four of them aren’t that great, people will still buy it for the sixth.”

“Or one big name author with a few other smaller ones,” Hazar says. “That’ll sell just the same.”

“But the same number of books get sold,” Adil says. “Don’t they lose money, with all the authors they have to pay per book?”

“More books get sold,” Hazar says.

“It suits a larger audience,” Nesta realizes. “So more people buy it.” Because those six authors they’ll buy the book for are different authors for everyone.

Sometimes Nesta hates individual taste. Especially if it’s poor.

Adil puts his head in his hands. “How many publishing agents do they have?”

“Not many,” Maz says. “We only saw three at the fair.”

“For all those new authors?”

“I imagine the authors aren’t treated very well,” Hazar says, frowning slightly. “But they might not care, if they get published quickly.”

“That’ll be bad for them in the long run, though,” Leyla says, speaking up.

“I agree with you, but again, they might not care.”

“Do we have to start publishing short story collections?” Zeyn asks.

Nesta thinks about what would go into that. They would need to find so many new authors. Sugar Books--and Adil--believes in the separation of genre, so they couldn’t just cram any random ten stories together. It would go against their idea of what the literary world should be. What would that take, to find a variety of authors who write on the same subject, with the enough of the same general style to create harmony, but each unique enough to justify its presence in the book?

She shivers involuntarily, very thankful for Cassian’s shared account.

"We’ll definitely have to start signing more authors,” Adil decides. “We’ll...send out scouts.”

“To Chokecherry?” Maz says.

“No,” Adil says. “But everywhere else. Where authors frequent. We’ll have to go overtime on reading manuscripts. But we will  _ not _ \--” he slams his hand down on the table quite suddenly, startling them all “--compromise on the integrity and quality of literature.”

“Hear, hear!” Zeyn calls, and Nesta suppresses a smile. He catches it and winks at her.

“We’ll split up. Xeyale, Amir, and Nesta, you’ll stay and run the shop. Hazar, you stay here, too, and wait for our new clients. Miri and I will go to Berries’ Rivers, Maz, you go to Privet Falls, Leyla, Wintergreen Glen, and Zeyn, Juniper Hills. We’re talent scouting. Find places authors frequent, approach them, if they’re any good, send them here.” He looks at them all intently.

Zeyn and Nesta exchange a glance.

“Ah, Adil,” Zeyn says, rather timid. “You do know that that’s insane, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says, already making to leave the room and go back to his office.

“All the gods,” Hazar says, standing up. “I’ve got to go get a cup of coffee.” And he leaves too.

“I mean, that’s insane, right?” Zeyn says.

“I think we’re all in agreement of that, yes,” Leyla says, nodding.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Miri says.

They all look at her.

" Maybe it’s time for a change,” she defends. “Maybe this is the way to do it. This is what they do in the acting industry, right?”

“But this isn’t the acting industry.”

“He’s really stressed about this,” Miri says. “He doesn’t want this place to lose anymore than Chokecherry has already taken from it.”  _ He doesn’t want any of you to lose anymore than Chokecherry has taken _ , she doesn’t say, but they all see it in her eyes. “I think it will work.” She stands. “And at any rate...it’s what we’re doing.” She leaves.

“I hate what this is doing to everyone,” Maz complains, and Nesta hates to agree with him, but she does too.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be the only archivist while you’re all off turning into the acting industry,” she says, shaking her head.

Zeyn and Leyla laugh.

" Don’t worry,” Xeyale says, grinning at her. “We’ll be here to keep you company.”

“A real comfort,” she says dryly. She stands too. “Well, I suppose we’ve got work to do. We need to find all the places...authors frequent.” She rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, in a fifty mile radius,” Maz grumbles. “This is never going to work.”

“Don’t say that,” Zeyn says lightly. “It might. And wouldn’t it be great? To discover new talent like that?”

Nesta knows the question isn’t directed at her, but she wonders anyway--what would it be like? In publishing? She didn’t think she’d like archiving before she started; she thought reading was the only thing she enjoyed.

That’s not something she can explore now, though, and that’s why Adil is having her stay here. So she shakes herself and goes to find maps of the surrounding towns.

* * *

November 20 - Year of

She avoided him for days after she snapped. He caught her in the living room when she came back from work one day.

“Wait, Nesta,” he said, jumping to his feet as soon as she walked in.

Nesta stifled a groan. She didn’t want to have this conversation.

She didn’t like that tentative, detached politeness. She was  _ angry _ .

(And Cassian was anything but tentative and detached. It felt abnormal sharing that with him.)

“Please,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize.”

Nesta said stiffly, “Don’t worry about it,” and tried to push past him.

“No, Nesta,” he said, raising his hands and blocking her path to the hallway. “Not for breakfast. I mean, yes for breakfast, but also...for everything. For bringing you here. For...leaving you here.”

She froze. He did too.

She moved her eyes from his face. She couldn’t look at him.

Why was everything so hot all of a sudden?

“I...should have known this wasn’t the right thing to do,” he said, slowly, carefully. Nesta could tell he was thinking hard about each word before he said it. “To bring you here and leave you alone. Here, of all places. We thought...I thought it would be good for you. I thought...you would have space and maybe you would want to train and that would be a good outlet for you the same way it is for me and you’d get....”

_ Better _ , he didn’t say.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was hoarse and Nesta was scared to look at him so she didn’t.

He sat back down. “That’s...all I wanted to say,” he said lamely.

Nesta kept her eyes averted as she nodded slightly and ducked into the hall, into her room, shutting the door behind her.

He  _ apologized _ . 

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

And he certainly seemed sorry--just by his voice, of course, because she hadn’t seen his face.

He’d thought she might want to train...he didn’t know her at all, clearly. And he hadn’t mentioned all of it; not all that happened in Velaris and the fact that  _ she was this thing now _ , but she was glad of it, because all he did say was nearly too much to bear.

And she couldn’t spend the rest of her night going over everything, playing it all back in her head until she knew the words by heart, so she tried to best to put it all out of her mind.

Because...was she supposed to forgive him now?

* * *

November 2 - 4 years after

The staff is gone later that day, as Adil is determined to discover five brilliant new authors before the month is over. Nesta is glad Miri is going with him; she might talk some sense into him.

“Does he actually think Gilameyva’s just bleeding ingenious writers?” Leyla had muttered to her before they all left.

Nesta laughed a little. “He’s just anxious,” she said, echoing Miri.

"I can’t believe I have to go to Wintergreen Glen. It’s so boring.”

"Well, maybe you’ll find a whole new world to fall into.”

"Right. I’m sure we’ll find the next Morrissey in Wintergreen Glen.”

"Why not?” Zeyn had said, appearing next to them. “Morrisey’s from Privet Falls.”

And Morrissey, Nesta thinks to herself as she walks back home, isn’t even that great of a writer.

She doesn’t have to pick up the children from nursery because Cassian’s already got them. It’s quite nice, actually, to be able to spend a little while longer at work locking up and stop for a coffee from Jamal’s without worrying too much.

Aysel is there, too, and she walks back with her. “So,” she says to her, eager to get to the point after what was surely a painful exchange of pleasantries for the town’s resident busybody, “I hear that Cassian of yours has been staying for quite some time.”

"He comes and goes.”

"He’s been here a week.”

“That’s true,” she says.

“I saw him today. He picked the children up. Oh, they’re so cute, you know. Just the sweetest little things.”

“I agree with you.”

“You do such a good job with them!”

“Thank you, Aysel.”

“I remember when they were born. Ooh, Ollie was so tiny, do you remember?”

“Their birth?” Nesta laughs. “Vividly.”

Aysel laughs too, in that hurried way she always does. “Of course, of course. He’s so big now.”

“He is,” she agrees. She can’t believe it, sometimes, how much they have grown in three years. Especially Ollie; he had been so small.

“And his father,” Aysel says, in a tone she thinks is supposed to be sly. “Well, he’s not small, is he?”

“He’s tall,” Nesta says neutrally.

“ _ Very _ tall. Probably the tallest person in Sugar Valley, ever.”

“We had some tall people in for the last Berry Fair.”

“Tallest one now.”

“Probably.”

“How tall do you think your boys are going to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“And Ava?”

“Taller than I am, I hope.”

“Oh, don’t say that, dearie. You’re such a darling height.”

They reach their street then, and Nesta might’ve invited her for strawberry tea and jam, but she’s not going to. Confirming personally that Cassian is her children’s father to Aysel is one thing, inviting her inside to meet him is quite another.

“Well, have a good evening, Aysel,” she says.

“You too, dearie. Kisses to the babies!”

She waves at her over her shoulder and strides up to her porch.

She might’ve guessed something is wrong by the fact that she can’t hear any noise from the inside, but she knows for sure because Cassian rips the door open as soon as she reaches it. His face is pale.

Nesta’s heart drops. “What is it?” A million different scenarios run through her mind, each one worse than the last.

“Come inside,” is all he says.

They rush up the stairs, Nesta’s pulse going faster than it ever has before when he leads her up the stairs and to her children’s bedroom. She braces herself as best she can for when she goes inside, but she knows there isn’t a good way to prepare.

But they’re all there...whole. In three perfect pieces. Nicky and Ollie laying in the beds, Avery standing in between them, her hand on Nicky’s form.

She looks at Cassian, his face still ashen. “What?” she asks.

His eyes widen. “They’re sick!”

Nesta throws a hand to her forehead. For mercy’s sake. “Don’t,” she says, rubbing her temples, “ever deliver news to me that way.”

Her heartbeat back to normal, she joins Avery in the middle of her sons’ beds. She settles herself on her knees and pulls her close. She doesn’t feel hot.

"How are you feeling, ladybug?”

"Good,” she says, slightly muffled against Nesta’s body. She looks up at her. “Nicky and Ollie are sick.”

"Yes,” she says, nodding. Then she looks at Cassian. “It’s flu season.”

"Emilia’s sick, too.”

"Yes,” she says, still looking pointedly at Cassian. “Probably the flu, poor thing.”

He glares at her, but she can see his coloring darkens slightly, which probably would have delighted her once.

She doesn’t hate it, now.

She puts her hand on Nicky’s forehead and then Ollie’s. A fever, each of them. Ollie is sleeping soundly, and Nicky seems like he’ll fall asleep soon.

"Mummy will bring you something to drink,” she whispers to him, dropping a kiss on his forehead.

She leads Avery and Cassian out of the room.

“I don’t want to be sick.”

“You won’t,” she assures her. “You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want my brothers to be sick.”

Nesta feels the same rush of overwhelming emotion she always does when her children express how much they love each other. “Don’t worry,” she says to her, smiling. “They’ll be better soon. Why don’t you go play outside for a bit?”

“Are you out of your mind?” she says to Cassian when she’s gone. “Do you know what went through my head?”

"They’re sick!”

“Children get sick! People get sick! They’ll get better!”

“Well, I’ve never had children get sick before!”

Nesta softens at the fear in his voice, shining through his eyes as well. “They’ll be fine,” she says in a more gentle tone. “It’ll be a few days...it’s properly miserable to see them, but they’ll be fine. I only don’t want to keep Avery here...I don’t want her to get sick, too. Normally I’d ask Miri and Adil,” she says, talking more to herself. “But they’re gone, and I can’t ask Amorette. I guess I’ll keep her in my room. Oh, and I’ll have to stay here. Oh, but I’m alone at the store....”

"You’re alone at the store?”

"Yes, Adil’s got everyone traipsing around the country, looking for authors,” she says, waving a hand. “Unless...when are you going back?”

“Not before they’re better.”

Nesta straightens. That was the right answer. “Well, could you watch them during the day?” He nods, his expression casual, but Nesta can tell he’s terrified.

" It’s really not that big of a deal,” she says. “I’ll show you which medication to give them, how often. I’ll make soup. They’ll need fluids. Oh, and Nicky can’t have plain water when he’s sick, he’ll need tea...I’ll write this down for you...but it’s not like I’m going to be leaving you alone,” she adds at the sight of him. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Just work.”

“I know,” he says. Hesitates. “I just...”

“What?”

“I’m...worried.”

Nesta puts down the pen she’s picked up and crosses the room to his side. She moves her hand to take his, but thinks better of it. “You don’t need to. They’ll be fine. So will you. You’ve been...” her eyes dart around the room, but she meets his gaze when she says, “very helpful. This week.”

His head lifts slightly, and that all-too-familiar cocky grin appears. “Yeah?”

“Yes. In fact...” Now Nesta hesitates. “Maybe...if you would feel comfortable...you could spend the night with Avery at Miri’s house?”

His grin slides off his face.

“If it’s too soon,” she says quickly, “then--you know what? Forget--”

“No!” he says. “No, I can! I can--sure. At Miri’s...yes. I can. I know what she needs. I can...yes.”

“All right,” she says, relieved somewhat. “I’ll...make you a list.”

“Okay.”

“And...she’ll have flying lessons tomorrow. Maybe you’d like to go with her? And I’ll stay home with the boys?”

Nesta’s never seen his eyes light up the way they do now.

* * *

November 12 - 1 year after

She didn’t feel exactly ill, but she felt off. Like the world had been tilted a few degrees. She had been hungrier than normal for her the past week or so, but it’s not till that day she wondered if something was wrong with her.

Only briefly. Then she pushed the thought aside. Things were going well, and she didn’t need to look for something to be upset about.

"Good morning, Nesta,” Zeyn greeted her cheerfully. How was he always so happy all the time? It was jarring.

"Hello, Zeyn,” she said, rubbing her temples.

“Headache?”

“No...” she said, because her head didn’t hurt, it just felt...weird. “Just tired.” Perhaps that was it.

“I’ve got a lot of new books today. Maybe you’d like to read one. Do you like mystery?”

“It’s all right,” she said. Most mystery novels were predictable to her. “I’ve got to finish mine, though.”

“How have you been with all those?” he asked, following her to the back room.

_ All that is Holy _ , she thought. “It’s going well, thanks.” It was reading. And fixing up books. And setting a price. As long as you could read, it wasn’t hard.

“I just get so overwhelmed sometimes,” he said. “You know, all those books. In such a short amount of time. And how do you set a price!”

“Length and demand,” she said, frowning slightly. How else would you set a price?

“Yes, but it’s hard to foresee demand at a store that sells used books,” he said. “I imagine it’s even more so for you, because human-authored books are so unpopular. Not that they aren’t good! Just so, I guess, uncommon. Yes, that’s the word. It’s rare to come across one. But now that the Wall is down, we might trade more. It’d be really fascinating, don’t you think, to see what books are popular with humans. Don’t you think? Nesta?”

“Just...” Nesta said, “I. Oh. Oh, I have to...” she trailed off, not being able to hear herself suddenly.

“Here, lie down.” She could feel a pair of warm, strong hands lower her gently to the ground. Oh, it felt so-- _ wrong _ , to be touched like that. By another male’s hands. Oh, she didn’t like it...

The room was spinning. She could hear more voices. Emerie was yelling. No, not Emerie. Not Emerie, right? Who was that? Who was speaking?

Someone was saying her name. Someone...but she couldn’t hear.

And then she couldn’t see.

* * *

November 2 - 4 years after

Cassian’s still has yet to regain his power of speech, but it doesn’t matter, because Ava keeps the conversation going on her own.

“And I will put my horse here, and I will put my dog here, and I will put my owl here...” she sing-songs, placing her stuffed animals in various spots on the bed he has set up for her in Miri’s house.

S he’s ready to go to sleep, after being fed and bathed at Nesta’s house. But she wants to set up the room the way she likes it first.

" And I want...my giraffe.”

“Your giraffe?” Cassian repeats, looking around. “I don’t see...”

“Nicky has it.”

“Nicky has it?”

“Yes.”

“But Nicky’s at home.”

“Let’s go get it.”

“Well,” he says, wishing Nesta were here, “we’ll go home tomorrow morning, and we’ll bring your giraffe then.”

Ava looks outraged. “I want it now!”

She hadn’t mentioned this. Nesta didn’t say anything about a giraffe. And he’s never been out with Ava before; how was he supposed to know? “But...we’ll let Nicky have it. Because he’s sick. Just for tonight.” Maybe that tactic will work?

Ava considers it. “Tomorrow I will get my giraffe?”

H e’s nothing if not strategic. “Yes. Tomorrow.”

“Not tonight?”

“No, not tonight.”

Ava thinks some more. “All right, tomorrow.”

C assian breathes a sigh of relief. Ava’s been throwing crisis after crisis at him. He feels like a novice, back when he did simulations. When his commanders had given them every possible thing that could go wrong, all at the same time. There was an Illyrian expression that loosely translated into “difficult training makes for an easy battle”--but there is no training for parenting and it is by no definition an easy battle.

“Tell me a story,” she orders him when he finally convinces her to get into bed.

Cassian nods. Nesta had told him one as they packed, reciting the important lines a few times over for him to memorize. “I’ll tell you the one about Jack,” he says.

“No, I don’t want Jack.”

F antastic.

" Well,” he says, trying to keep a level head. “What...story do you want?”

“Not a Mummy story.”

“What’s a Mummy story? Oh, not one of Mummy’s stories.” She wants one of his? Nesta wouldn’t like him telling any Illyrian tales...and he doesn’t think it’s a particularly good idea either. “Maybe...” Cassian rack his brain.  _ He  _ has stories, doesn’t he? One of them must be child-friendly. Or he can edit it to make it so.

Had he ever gone on some sort of quest that didn’t end in bloodshed?

“Not too long ago,” he says, in the way Illyrian tales always start, realizing as he begins that it’s quite eerie, but no matter, “there was a male who loved a female very much. And the female loved...very much...more than anything in the world...chocolate.”

Ava laughs. “I love chocolate!”

“You do? Well, the female loved chocolate so much, but there was one type of chocolate she loved more than all the others. But she hadn’t had it since she was a little girl, and she now lived very far away from the place where they made it. One day, she was very sad...and he knew only that chocolate would make her happy again. So he decided he would travel to find it.

“He had to cross an ocean and many lands, for only one tiny little town across the world made this exact kind of chocolate. When he got to the tiny town, he searched and searched for the chocolate shop. And then...he found it. And he bought some chocolate...and he brought it home...and then the female was happy again,” he finishes lamely.

Ava looks at him, unimpressed. He doesn’t blame her. Although in his defense, it had been more exciting when it had actually happened.

“Tell it again!” she says.

He does, trying to make it sound better this time around, but he isn’t very good at it. He might’ve laced the story with bits and pieces of other (real) quests he had been on, but he isn’t sure what he’s allowed to say.

After the second time, Ava looks at him thoughtfully. “That was not a good story,” she tells him.

He laughs a little. “I’m sorry. Should I tell you the story about Jack?”

“Yes!”

He recites the story Nesta had told him, exactly the way she had instructed, and Ava is thrilled. She laughs and claps along.

" Again!” she says when he finishes. And again and again.

Until he says, “It’s time for you to go to sleep, now, Ava.”

" So let’s go home.”

“We’re sleeping here tonight, Ava, remember?”

To his horror, her eyes well up with tears. “I want to go home with Mummy and Nicky and Ollie.”

“Don’t cry,” he says, fretting. “Don’t--it’s okay, don’t--oh....”

“I don’t--want--to  _ stay here _ ,” she sobs. “I want to go home!”

“I’m sorry...we’ll go home tomorrow, Ava.”

“I want my giraffe!”

“But we said we’d let Nicky have the giraffe tonight, don’t you remember?” he says desperately. But Ava doesn’t care. He can’t quite make out exactly what she’s saying and he doesn’t know what to do.

So he picks her up out of bed and lays her against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says, trying to bounce her. That’s how to calm children down, right?

“I don’t want to stay here all by myself!” Her cries are muffled against him.

“Well, you’re not all by yourself,” he says. “I’m here. I’m staying with you.” Would that be enough?  _ Please let that be enough _ . He doesn’t know what he’ll do if that’s not good enough for her. Just for one night.

She sniffles a little and lifts her head, looking up at him with his own eyes. Except so innocent, so pure. “Can I sleep in your bed?” she asks, voice still wavering.

Relief crashes over him. “Sure,” he says. “Of course.”

The smile she gives him is vibrant, and he marvels at how little he loved her at the beginning of the week compared to now.

* * *

November 30 - Year of

She’d told her sister, once, that the last thing she would want would be to be remembered as a coward. She felt like one now.

Like a coward and angry and hurt, perhaps, more than anything. Which made her feel stupid.

Sometimes Nesta thought she felt too much.

After Cassian had apologized, she’d fled to her room and avoided him successfully for over a week. It was made easier by the fact that he did have to leave a few times during the week, to one of those neighboring camps he always went off to.

She didn’t want to think about it. Especially the pain. Because if he had hurt her...she didn’t let herself finish the thought.

B ut one afternoon, at work, while counting out jackets in the back, she heard Emerie say, “What are you doing here?”

A nd then she heard  _ him  _ reply, “I came to see Nesta.”

S he nearly dropped the jacket she was holding. She normally felt him before she heard him. Where had that gone? It was of no use to her when they were both in the house, and now it was too late to sneak out the back, because he was coming.

" Nesta,” he said, pushing open the door.

“The sign says ‘employees only’,” she blurted out, which she knew was the stupidest thing she could have said, but it was too late.

“Emerie said I could go in.”

Traitor.

“I needed to talk to you.”

“It couldn’t wait? I’m working.” Perhaps he’d make some snide comment about working in a clothier as opposed to being the Night Court’s Emissary and then she could pick a fight over that and kick him out of the shop and they’d go back to the way things were when she got here. Except she’d have Emerie and her drinking habit more under control, so it’d be better. 

But he just said, “I know. I’m sorry, it couldn’t wait. I’ll be leaving again soon. For about five days, I think. Maybe longer. And I couldn’t go without...” he trailed off. Ran a hand through his hair and let out a frustrated sound. “I keep doing things wrong with you, Nesta. 

S he averted her gaze. She couldn’t do this. This was too much. And if he mentioned...that day...the battlefield...she didn’t know what she would do.

B ut he did.

“I promised you time, once,” he said softly.

_ No _ . No, she could  _ not _ do this.

“I have to go,” she managed. She pushed past him, quickly, careful not to touch him.

“Wait, Nesta, please--”

“Nesta,” Emerie said, turning as she entered the room. “Where are you--?”

But Nesta didn’t stay to hear her finish. Instead, she ran.

* * *

November 3 - 4 years after

This time it is Nesta who rips open the door as soon as she hears Cassian approaching.

“Mummy!” Avery calls, reaching her arms out for her.

“Hi, ladybug,” Nesta croons. She holds her tightly against herself. “I missed you so much.”

She had regretted sending Cassian out with her the moment they had gone. She hadn’t spent a night away from them, ever. She had never not tucked them into bed. And now...Avery had had a night without her. It felt like she should look different. There should be some mark upon her face.

But her daughter looks just as she did last night, just as cheerful and chattery. Cassian looks relatively unscathed, too, if a bit tired.

“Did you have fun?” she asks her as she ushers them inside.

“Appa told me a boring story,” Avery says, and wiggles out of Nesta’s arm onto the ground. “I want some orange juice in my purple cup, please.”

“Boring story?” Nesta says to Cassian.

“She didn’t want yours. And I didn’t want to tell her something you wouldn’t approve of. She still asked for it again, anyway,” he says defensively.

Nesta looks at him. “And you told it to her?”

“Yes.” Now he looks unsure. “And then she wanted yours...so I told that one, like, three times.”

Nesta shakes her head. She looks at Avery. Her daughter knows how to get what she wants, that’s for sure. “Did she ask to sleep in your bed, too?”

“...is that bad?”

Nesta rolls her eyes. Avery wraps everyone she meets around her little finger. Why should her father be any different?

“How are Nicky and Ollie?” he asks.

" Still ill,” she says. “The main thing is just to keep them on a constant stream of fluids so they don't dehydrate. Soup, if they feel up for it. Talk to them if you can, but they might be too tired.”

“Shouldn’t we take them to a healer?”

She hadn’t realized how much she’d appreciate hearing him say  _ we _ . “We don’t need to,” she says. “It’s the common flu. They’ll be fine.”

“So...you never take them to the healer? If they have the flu?”

“It’s not necessary if it lasts only a couple of days,” she reminds him, “for adults and children both.”

“Infants--”

“Not the same,” she explains patiently. “They can digest medication. Infants can’t.”

She finishes putting Avery’s breakfast in front of her. “When you’re done, Mummy will take you to nursery.”

“I want to say hello to Nicky and Ollie.”

“Finish your breakfast and then go,” she says to her. Then she says to Cassian, “Well, other than that...how was it?”

“She cried,” he admits. Then he grins. “But I calmed her down.”

“By letting her sleep in your bed.”

“Why is that not allowed?”

Nesta shakes her head again. “You were only with her. What if they all wanted to sleep in your bed?”

“What then?”

“They would kick you out and you would end up on the floor.” Nesta had thought moving them into their own beds would be a hard step, and it was, but as soon as she woke up from her first night alone in over two years, she didn’t miss it anymore.

Cassian laughs. “I can take them.”

Nesta hides a smile. “Finish up, Avery,” she says. “It’s almost time to go.”

She busies herself around the kitchen with nothing in particular, just feeling his eyes on her.

* * *

November 12 - 1 year after

She could hear everyone around her before she could see them. Low, hushed voices. Some whirring sound, too. She shivered from the cold and from something else.

“Oh, she’s waking up,” she heard someone whisper.

“Nesta?” another voice said. Miri, from Sugar Books. What was she doing here?

Nesta opened her eyes. Where was here, exactly?

_ Here _ was a small room Nesta didn’t recognize. Pale blue walls decorated with tiny sugar berries; the sheets on the bed she was lying on the same design. The curtains on the window were a cheerful yellow and the expressions on Zeyn and Miri’s faces were anything but.

“Can you hear us, Nesta?”

Nesta struggled to sit upright. “Of course I can hear you,” she said, grumbling slightly. “What are these?” She shook her arm as she spoke, at the needles prodded inside her.  She was in an infirmary of some kind. She vaguely remembered blacking out at the store, but since she could feel no pain, she assumed she was fine. Probably just dehydrated. After all, she had been Made. The epitome of perfection, was she not? She didn’t get sick anymore.

“Fluids,” Zeyn said unhelpfully.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course they were fluids. But Zeyn was harmless, if annoying, and she didn’t want to start an antagonistic relationship with the coworker who clearly liked her best.

“You blacked out,” Miri said, her wide dark eyes searching Nesta’s face. “We brought you to the clinic. A healer is seeing to you. Her name’s Amorette. She’s fairly new here, but I’ve been told she’s very good.”

Nesta nodded. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, hoping they’ll hear the dismissal.

They do. “Feel better, Nesta,” Zeyn said, reaching her hand to squeeze it. She tried not to flinch.

“We’ll be by to check in on you,” Miri said.

Oh, for the love of all things Holy. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She smiled as she spoke, hoping she did so normally.

Cassian used to make fun of her forced smiles.  _ You look like you’re in pain. _

W hy was she thinking of him all of a sudden?

They left as the healer stood in the room. She looked to be about Nesta’s age--although with Fae, you couldn’t really tell, could you? But at any rate, a pretty, High Fae female, with light blue eyes and blond hair that kept tied at the nape of her neck.

“Good afternoon, Miss Archeron,” the healer said. “I’m Amorette Dadashov. I’ll be your healer today. May I come in?”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “Sure,” she said, pleasantly surprised at the healer asking permission.

Healer Dadashov closed the door behind her. She was holding a notebook in her hand. “I can see all your vitals have returned to normal,” she said, without checking them like a mortal nurse would have to. “All things considered.”

" All things considered?”

“Yes,” she said, flipping through the pages of her book. “I understand you’re new in town?”

What on Earth did that have to do with anything? “Yes.”

“And, forgive me, you’re here alone?”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“And you’ve not been to our clinic yet, correct?”

“Correct.” Shouldn’t that all be in her book? Why is she asking all this?

“So your options have not yet been explained to you?” Dadashov looked Nesta in the eye as she spoke.

Nesta’s patience was wearing thin. “Look,” she snapped, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’d very much like if you could just tell me what happened and what I have to do so it doesn’t happen again and let me go. Please,” she added as an afterthought. It didn’t sound very gracious.

D adashov’s eyes widened. “Miss Archeron,” she said, not quite stuttering but certainly with none of the confidence she’d had before. “You do...I mean...you know that you’re pregnant?”

N esta’s favorite book as a child was about magic. It wasn’t called magic, of course, for in the tiny human section of their island, magic was shunned. But that power to manipulate nature; that was what it was. The heroine was a girl named Avery, and Avery’s villain was a woman who could make things vanish. The most terrifying part of the story, in eight-year-old Nesta’s opinion, was the part where the villain made the floor vanish right from underneath Avery, and she fell and fell for miles until she could get her magic working to pull herself back up.

Nesta felt that. But there was no one to pull her back up. Because she was alone. There was only falling.

“I...can see you did not know,” Dadashov said softly. “All right, well...” She pulled a chair towards the bed and sat down. She gripped Nesta’s hands, hers a warm peach next to Nesta’s stark white. “It’s going to be all right,” she said soothingly. “The clinic is very well prepared for any option you choose. We have three healer’s for female reproduction, myself included. We’re all more than capable of treating you in whatever...oh, dear. Here,” she said, passing her a wad of tissue paper.

“Oh,” Nesta said, taking some and wiping her eyes. “Oh, er, tha--” 

But she choked on her words.

What was she supposed to do?

“I can’t be pregnant,” she whispered aloud. Because she  _ couldn’t _ . Then she realized--she truly couldn’t. “This...can't be possible. I haven’t...been with anyone in months.” Even with the gravity of the situation, Nesta still felt a slight blush creep up on her cheeks. Perhaps she had not entirely thrown out the excessive modesty of her upbringing with her few months of numerous partners in Velaris, and the few months living with Cassian.

Oh,  _ Mother _ .  _ Cassian. _

“It’s...possible for a female to get pregnant months after intercourse,” the healer said slowly, carefully, like Nesta was an idiot.

“It is?” she replied, feeling like one.

“Yes.”

_ Of course _ , Nesta thought, thinking it through. Because her cycle was so slow...and that meant her whole system was so slow...and if pregnancy once would have occurred a few days after sex, now it happened months.

And she had stopped taking the potion. Because she had stopped sleeping with people. But that didn’t matter, because it had only been...Nesta counted backwards in her head...a month since she had last slept with Cassian.

(A month? Had it really only been a month?)

Nesta put her head in her hands. “All right,” she said, summoning her nerve. “Tell me about the other two healers.”

“Well,” Dadashov said, slightly taken aback, “there’s Huseyn Por--”

“Male.”

“Er, yes.”

“No. The other one.”

"Marya Kamal. She’s brilliant, one of the best in the field. We’re lucky to have her. Her studies--”

“How old is she?”

“Er,” Dadashov said, eyes darting around. “I believe...twelve-hundred, or so?”

“No. You, then. All right.” Nesta paused to take a deep breath. “I don’t know anything about faerie reproduction. I wasn’t born faerie. And I...can’t have this baby.”

Eugh, why did she say baby?

Dadashov’s eyes go even wider.

She’s a patient from Hell, she imagined. But Healers liked a challenge, didn’t they?

* * *

November 3 - 4 years after

The day spent with his sons is miserable. He sits with them all day, talking to them while they’re awake and running his hands down their backs while they sleep. Nicky seems to be doing a little better towards the late afternoon, and sits up to have soup, but Ollie barely takes the water Cassian makes him drink.

He’s beyond relieved when Nesta and Ava come home.

Ava rushes up the stairs ahead of Nesta. “We’re going to flying lessons now, Appa,” she sing-songs. “We’re going now, we’re going now, we’re going now.”

"Hi, angels,” Nesta says, coming into the room and sitting by Nicky. “How are you feeling?” she asks him, putting a hand on his forehead.

“Better,” he says, but his voice is still so weak.

Nesta kisses the top of his head and hugs him. “What about a bath? Would that make you feel better.”

He shrugs into her.

“I think it would,” she says, standing up. “How’s Ollie?”

“Sleeping, mostly.”

“Poor angel,” she sighs. “All right, you go on to flying lessons. Have fun, Avery. Say hello to Madam Sabina for me.”

“Bye-bye, Nicky! Bye-bye, Mummy! Let’s go now, Appa!”

Ava takes his hand and starts dragging him towards the door. “Bye,” he says over his shoulder. “We’ll come back soon.”

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go now!”

Ava keeps up variations of her chant until they arrive at one of the parks where flying lessons commence. The children all look to be around her age, accompanied by a parent or two. They’re all various types of lesser fae, none of the likes of which he’s seen in the Night Court.

Madam Sabina is a round, pink female with large, feathery wings. 

“Hello,” he says, introducing himself. “I’m here with Ava.”

“You’re her father?”

“Yes. Nesta’s at home. With the boys. They’re sick.”

“Ah, flu’s going around. All right, then. Normally I fly with the triplets, but good. You’ll do it. Wonderful. Are you excited to fly with your Daddy, Ava?”

“He’s my Appa,” she says. And then she starts singing again, “We’re at flying lessons now, we’re at flying lessons now.”

Madam Sabina shrugs. “Excited enough, I guess. All right, students!” she cries, clapping her hands. Let’s all gather around in a circle--mummies, daddies, uncles, let’s get behind them. Let’s start our stretching exercises.”

"Hi,” says the female next to him in the parents’ circle. “I’m Nuray, Zehra’s mother. I’m a friend of Nesta’s. You’re the triplets’ father, right?”

He nods. “Cassian,” he says.

“Nicky looks so much like you,” she says. “Where are the boys?”

“They’re sick,” he says, wondering how many friends Nesta has here, or if everyone who has a child in the same age group counts as a friend. “The flu.”

“Oh,” she says, clucking. “Poor dears. Well, it’s going around. Nice that Nesta’s got you here now, to help out. Especially with Zeyn gone.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, struggling to maintain a casual tone. “Good stretching, Ava,” he says to her.

“All right, now, let’s just flap our wings. Just like that. No, Fidan, not too fast! We’re just flapping, we’re not flying! All right, good!”

Ava grins up at him. “I already know how to fly,” she tells him.

“Oh, do you?”

“I’m so good at it.”

“I bet you are.”

“We’re not allowed to fly until Madam Sabina says it’s okay.”

“That’s right.”

“Because we have to  _ stretch  _ first because it’s very important.”

“It is very important, you’re right.”

“And, now we’re going to run all the way over there and then back again, all right? Go!”

Ava shoots off as fast as she can, making him laugh in delight. He feels a rush of gratitude towards Nesta for giving them such a beautiful, quiet place to learn to fly.

" I think it’s great that you’ve moved back in,” Nuray says. “In a town like this, people talk, but they’re good. People talked when my wife and I separated, but now we’re back, and people stop talking, you know?”

"Er,” Cassian says. “We’re not--I mean, I’m not--I don’t...live...here.”

“Oh!” Nuray brings a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry! I just...assumed. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s all right,” he says, eyes darting around. This is so-- _ weird _ . Sugar Valley is so weird. People he doesn’t even know congratulating him on moving back in with Nesta. No one here knows who he is. No one here has served in any military. He’s not even sure Gilameyva has a military. It’s so detached from Prythian, so different.

“Well, at any rate...I think it’s great that you’re stepping up.”

“Thanks.” Is this a normal conversation?

Thankfully, Ava comes back then.

“All right, everyone,” Madam Sabina announces. “Pair up, pair up. We’re going to go up! Stand by your partner!”

Ava stands in front of Cassian, beaming up at him.

“Okay, just high enough to their heads. Now...up!”

Ava kicks herself off the ground--it isn’t graceful in the least, but he’s so proud, prouder than he’s ever been in his life.

“And now we’re all going to do a lap around the park together. No higher than six feet, parents! And uncle!”

Ava takes his hand as they fly together. He’s going abnormally slow, but he doesn’t care at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get your flu shots, kiddos. It's going around.  
I'd love to know what you think!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been delayed far too long, so I'll leave a longer note at the end. Here's chapter twelve!

November 5 - 4 years after

Nesta cannot fight the broad grin on her face when she wakes to find her sons back in full health. She’s happy they’re better, and thrilled to have her daughter back in the house. She rushes through her day at the shop and still can’t help herself; she leaves to the nursery at three fifteen. She tries to make the walk as long as possible, stopping to chat with Aysel along the way, but arrives at twenty to four. She won’t take them out early, as that would probably only upset them. But it feels like too long since she’s had all of them together, to herself, that she only barely manages to stop herself outside the building.

“Oh, hello, Nesta,” she hears behind her.

She turns. “Hello, Classia.”

“All alone today?” she asks cheerfully. “Me too, Ulvi’s at the boutique. I’m rather miserable with numbers, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“How are the boys?” she says, tone more sympathetic.

“They’re here today!” Nesta can’t keep the excitement out of their voice. “And Avery’s coming home!”

Classia blinks, unused to seeing such enthusiasm from Nesta. “Oh, where was she?” 

“Cassian had her. At Miri’s house. I didn’t want her to get sick,” she says, hurriedly adding the last part. That’s the last rumor she needs spreading around; she is dividing up her children between herself and her...their father.

“It’s wonderful that he’s here, then,” she coos. “I know you’ve had such help from the whole of Sugar Books and Zeyn and Adil and Miri especially, but it’s not the same as a partner, is it? To share the emotional burden?”

And that is enough to wipe the smile of Nesta’s face, but not enough to completely dim the light inside her at the thought of holding all three of her children in her arms again. 

He’s been here over a week. Probably the longest he’s been away from his duties as General Commander… ever. She knows it’ll end soon, which is why she is forcing herself  _ not _ to let him share the emotional burden. Sure, he can love them and he’s been a great help with the boys these past few days, but  _ she _ is the primary parent and caregiver.

The timer on the locked gate to the nursery finally ticks four and swings open; she is the first through it and to the door. Nicky sees her first and runs to hug her. She bends down and catches him, then Avery and Ollie follow, all of them laughing through their chatter and blissfully, blissfully, normal-temperature.

“I missed you three,” she says to them, a bit muffled as she drops a kiss on the top of Avery’s head.

“Where’s Appa?” Nicky says.

“I missed you, Ava.”

“I missed you too, Ollie!”

“Where’s Appa?” Nicky asks again, more insistent, squirming out of Nesta’s grasp.

She lets them go. “At home. Come on, let’s go.”

They held hands as they walked, Avery and Nicky on either side of her, and Ollie holding Avery’s hand. She’s more tuned into their conversation than normal, having missed the sound of their little voices together.

She’s so engrossed in them, watching them, she doesn’t notice Cassian before them until Nicky calls his name and breaks free from her, running and leaping into his arms.

“Hi,” she says to him when they get closer.

“Hi,” he says, putting Nicky down and taking hold of Ollie. “I didn’t realize you had already picked them up.”

“I missed them,” she says. Oddly, she feels a little guilty. “I was bringing them straight home.” It’s not stealing his time from them, but it feels that way.

But he grins easily. “Straight home?”

“I want to go to the park!”

“I also!”

“Home first,” Nesta says firmly, ducking her face into her coat and fiddling with the buttons. “We’ll go later.”

“Mummy’s rules,” Cassian says to them, looking down.

“I’m hungry.”

“We’re almost home,” she says, picking up her face now the burning has faded. “Come along.”

Cassian moves closer to her. “Could we have dinner together? Tonight?” His voice is low enough that she knows only she can hear it.

Her throat tightens. She doesn’t open her mouth for a few moments, afraid of what she might say.

“Sure.”

* * *

November 14 - 1 year after

Somehow word had gotten around, in this tiny, gossiping town, and by the time Nesta came back to her room at the inn, everyone knew she was pregnant.

Brilliant. Perfect.

They were being whatever their definition of tactful was, she knew. Which wasn’t very impressive. But she could hardly blame them, could she? She imagined a pregnant, Other female from Prythian was hardly something that shook the rumor mills of Sugar Valley every day.

No one was malignant. No one said much of anything, really—not to her, at least. But everyone at the bookstore smiled at her more often. Zeyn kept offering her water. Miri had urged her to sit while she sorted the books—here, she’d be happy to help!

The healer, Amorette, was competent enough. She had explained her options to her, which weren’t anything novel. She could either terminate the pregnancy or give the child away to someone else.

She couldn’t have the thing herself. That much was clear.

And so Nesta wasn’t particularly worried. This was unfortunate, sure. And emotionally disturbing and physically a nuisance. But nothing to write home about.

She should write… to her sisters. In general. Not about this, of course. This was nothing. This was… not her child. And so not their business, as it was barely hers. Either all this would be over in a week, or she’d be carrying someone else’s child, and that didn’t concern her sisters.

It certainly didn’t concern Cassian. This was… no. No reason to say anything.

She didn’t want other people’s opinions getting in the way of her own, after all. She needed a quiet room to keep a clear mind and make her choice.

Her room in the inn was nearly silent. The only noise was the scraping sound her nail made as she ran it over the coin.

Because that, it appeared, was what it would come down to. A coin toss.

Would she spend the next nine months creating life? Building a whole new person, half herself, half… Illyrian? With dark hazel eyes and wings and curls like hers and maybe some warm brown skin, the shade between theirs...?

Or would she… move on?

Yes, that was a nice way to put it.

She shut her eyes tight, ridding the image of a child from her mind by counting upwards by seven. It was too much. Little hands, little toes, little… kicks… inside her.

And  _ that _ nearly made her decision. Pregnancy was gruesome. She didn’t want that. A whole other person inside of her she had to take care of? Clearly, Nesta wasn’t even good at being around people next to her. For just a few hours a day. She couldn’t do this.

And then… for what? For giving it away?

_ Of course _ , she told herself immediately.  _ You can’t be a mother. _

That much was true. Certainly not alone. It took a village, didn’t it? And while Nesta did stay in this small town, well… she didn’t really have it, did she? And she didn’t have… anyone. To be with.

_ Coward _ , a voice inside her head jeered. She ignored it. She didn’t owe this to Cassian. She was—hurt. And  _ angry _ . He didn’t need to be privy to any of this.

She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t be a mother alone. She probably couldn’t be a mother ever. She was broken inside. She thought she wasn’t, for a while… that he had helped her get fixed… but no matter. She would go to Dadashov, schedule an appointment, and… all would be done.

A few weeks, at most. She would go through the procedure, spend a few days at home, and then go back to the bookshop. Continue her new, quiet life as an archivist.

* * *

December 6 - Year of

Cassian knew he had his work cut out for him this time.

He had to be smart. He couldn’t sneak up on her like he had at Emerie’s shop— _ that  _ was miserable. But he also couldn’t give her too much time to… well… run away. But after nearly a week in one of the rebelling camps, with his days occupied with strategy alongside Rhys and his nights taken up only by her image in his eye, he felt he knew what to do.

He waited until an hour they both knew she would be home and awake. Too late to be working, too early to be asleep. He made no effort to hide his steps to the house, and made enough noise as he could while still in the realm of conceivability while opening the door. He did so slower than usual, giving her ample time to hide in her room.

He didn’t let the unmoved chocolate bar on the kitchen counter deter him as he made his way to her door.

He knocked twice, and said—cheerfully, normally, “Hey, Nesta. I’m back!”

And then he waited.

He could practically feel her incredulous look through the door—she thought he was stupid, she thought he must be joking—but all that didn’t matter, because she opened the door.

“Hello,” she said carefully, her face devoid of any real emotion. That same detached politeness they had shared last week; as if they were neighbors and he had knocked on her door to ask for a cup of sugar.

“How was your week?” He could feel her bemusement in his bones, along with slight suspicion. But ever the cards-player, Nesta’s face betrayed nothing.

“All right. And yours?”

“Long,” he said, grinning. “I’m exhausted. Join me for dinner tomorrow?”

_ This _ threw her off-guard, and she narrowed her eyes a touch. “Sure,” she said.

_ Sure.  _ A resounding success, he thought. Now she would be there. All he had to was not fuck it up.

* * *

November 5 - 4 years after

Perhaps they had not had enough running around time today at nursery, Nesta thinks as she watches the triplets run themselves ragged at the park. Or they’re just excited to be playing together again.

“Good to see them all together, isn’t it?” Cassian marvels, throwing himself on the bench next to her, echoing her thoughts.

She nods and doesn’t say anything else. He sits with her for another few minutes, until he joins the triplets again and she watches them until the sun has nearly set, and calls them to walk back home.

“We were having so much fun at the park, Mummy, do you remember?”

“Yes, Nicky,” she says, unbuttoning his coat as Cassian herds Avery and Ollie inside. “It was seven minutes ago.”

“I had so much fun!”

“I’m glad. Take off your boots. Ollie, you too.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Yes, you are. Upstairs, let’s go.”

“I can give them their bath,” Cassian says. “Why don’t you get started on dinner?”

Nesta glances upstairs to wear the children are climbing together. “Sure,” she says, and turns to the kitchen.

Cassian always eats at least twice what she does, so she prepares four times what she would for herself. She works quickly and sets the pot to keep warm on the stove when she’s done, and goes upstairs to the children’s room.

She hears them laughing before she enters the room. Pushing the door untill it’s slightly ajar, she leans against the wall and watches them. He’s wrestling all three of them, with Nicky latched onto his neck from behind, and Avery and Ollie on either arm. They’re so… like him, she thinks. Avery and Ollie’s eyes, Nicky’s hair. And their wings. How had she ever managed to look at them and think they were all hers?

It scares her and she’s not even sure she likes it. But there’s no more denying it: he’s a part of them. Just as much as she is.

He catches her standing there and grins at her. “All right,” he says. “Time for bed.”

They tuck them all in, and Nesta starts on the story Ollie chooses, but they’re all asleep before she finishes, truly beat from their time at the park. She and Cassian creep out together, careful not to stir them.

Cassian pours her a glass of wine in the kitchen as she ladles out dinner. She takes a large swallow before she says, “Now what’s this about?”

He laughs. “Don’t fear the worst. It’s not the end of the world.” But his smile fades. “I… have to go back tomorrow.”

Something inside Nesta sinks. “You’ve been here long,” she says.

“Not long enough,” he replies. “And I’m going to come back as soon as I can. You know that. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do,” she says truthfully.

He relaxes for a moment. Then he tenses and says, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Nesta raises an eyebrow as she takes a bite of pasta. 

“I want you to think about coming over for Solstice. To Velaris.”

Nesta cocks her head. Lets out a dark laugh. “You…  _ cannot  _ be serious.”

“Just think about it,” he says, raising his hands. “And really think about it. I know you… I know how you feel about Rhys and Mor. But they’d love them, if you’d let them. And they really want to. And your sisters,” he adds, and she does appreciate that he pretends not to see her flinch. “They miss them. And you. Just… think about it. Sleep on it.” He swallows his own forkful of pasta, then he says, “How are things at the store?”

Which is kind of him, she supposes. Or… perhaps kind is not the right word. But she likes that he approaches the topic and then switches to one she is more comfortable with without making her respond. “Not the best,” she admits. “Adil and Miri came back. No brilliant authors just yet.”

“Have you signed anyone?”

“Three,” she says. “Two from Leyla and one from Maz.” She rolls her eyes. “As if Maz’s author is going to be any good.” 

“Zeyn’s not back yet?” he asks casually.

“No,” she says, keeping her voice even.

She’s not gone so long without talking to him since she moved here. It’s jarring. She feels she’s done something wrong, even though she knows she hasn’t.

“Well, maybe he’s got ten authors in tow.”

Nesta scoffs. “You sound like Adil. He’s being so weird about it all.” Although, privately, Nesta wonders if she’d be the same if not for Cassian’s money.

“I really don’t want to see anything happen to this shop,” she says suddenly. “Adil was… he helped with all of this, you know.”

“I know,” he says, nodding solemnly. “I owe him so much.”

He had truly taken her in his care; giving her that job, helping her buy the house. She hates seeing him so stressed over this.

Perhaps, she thinks wryly, he would like her to go to Velaris. See if she can find some authors there.

She's still too upset with her sisters to know if she’d go there right now for them. But she’d definitely go for Adil.

* * *

November 15 - 1 year after

The quiet of the bookstore was not the bliss she once might have wanted; it is—she cringed as she thought the word—pregnant. She knew they were all awkwardly tiptoeing around her, unsure of what to say.

“Nesta,” Zeyn said, approaching her for the umpteenth time that day.

“I’ve said I don’t want tea, Zeyn,” she said through gritted teeth. Really. Courtesy was one thing, but Nesta never liked hovering. No one liked hovering.

He laughed. “No, I know. I guess I’m annoying you.”

“No, of course not,” she said flatly, making him laugh again.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… you probably know how fast the rumor mill turns here. And. Well. We’re… the whole shop, we’re here for you.”

Nesta restrained a roll of her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. As if no one had ever been pregnant before. “But I think I’ll be fine.”

“Of course. Just, you know. You think you’re alone here, but you’re not. We’re a community.”

Nesta picked her head up from the book she was spining. She narrowed her eyes a bit, taking in his earnest expression. The slight nervousness alongside the warmth in his brown eyes. “Thank you,” she said again, more easily this time.

He grinned. “Can I… I mean, you’re probably. Well. Would you like me to show you around Sugar Valley? Have you been to Jamal’s?”

“No,” she said, vaguely aware that he was talking about a diner, and then  _ very _ aware that he was asking to take her out to dinner. “But I won’t be able to go out any time soon,” she said hurriedly. “I’m very busy.” She snapped her book shut and turned without waiting to hear anything else, walking briskly to the back room. She gave no sign she heard his “oh, all right, another time, then!” as she left.

Neighborly pleasantries were one thing. Agreeing to go to dinner with a male was quite another. She wasn’t nearly there yet.

* * *

December 7 - Year of

Emerie nodded slightly to Nesta as she walked in the door, in their typical morning greeting.

Nesta didn’t nod back today. Instead she said, “I’ve agreed to have dinner with him.”

Emerie’s lips parted slightly. “Oh,” she said, after a beat of silence.

Nesta glared as she forcefully took off her cloak. “That’s all you have to say?”

She blinked. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Nesta gritted. “Something useful, perhaps?”

Emerie’s lips quirked upwards a bit, while squinting her eyes, which Nesta very much didn’t like. Her sister’s looked at her like that, whenever they weren’t taking her seriously. “Well, why did you agree to dinner?”

“I don’t know. He asked. It was… strange. It was cordial.”

“You like cordial.”

“It was fake cordial.”

“You’re fake cordial.”

“That’s not how I want to live my personal life.”

“He’s a part of your personal life?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, pulling some folded climbing pants off a shelf to re-fold. She was very skilled in hiding her emotions and managed to keep her face turning the burning crimson her heart was trying to color, with the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks.

“Are you scared of him?”

When Nesta picked her head up a minute later, Emerie was still looking at her expectantly. “No,” she said finally, unsure of if it even counted as a lie or not.

Emerie was quiet for a few minutes, too. Then she said, “Just… remember what I told you. About my… cousin.” When Nesta didn’t acknowledge her, she said, “I hated him for not fighting for me. But… not enough to wish him dead. And now he is.”

Nesta bit back her  _ Yes, I remember your riveting tragedy _ , because she liked Emerie and she did feel for her. Emerie was perhaps the only person alive whom she could stand right now. Instead she said, “If we’re smart, we’ll start selling light wear next month. Others will start in February. We should be ahead.”

And the day passed as slowly as she could stretch it, painstakingly laying out the details for every day of sales for the next six weeks, but evening fell before long, and since she made the mistake of telling Emerie about her dinner plans, she kicked her out before the sun had truly set.

She took her time walking back, going as slowly as she could without truly terrifying the young Illyrian female walking hand in hand with a child. Nesta wasn't sure if it was her own. The pair walked in front of her, and the girl kept turning her head, discreetly trying to tell if Nesta was still there. Following her. Hunting her, perhaps. The thought made her scoff.

Other girls had always been intimidated by her, she thought. Even when she wasn’t trying to make them feel so. Elain once told her she stood too straight and narrowed her eyes too much.

But she couldn’t help it, even when she was very young. It was just her natural posture, her face. Up until now, she had been perfectly pleased with everyone steering clear of her, but now it was ridiculous.  _ She’d _ never killed anyone.

The walk was not long enough and Nesta found herself standing in front of Cassian’s house. She gave herself a few moments of lingering outside before forcing herself to go in.

“Good evening,” she said as she walked in the kitchen, stiffly, in that same odd tone they had used yesterday.

He looked up from the pot he was stirring and grinned at her—wholly unlike anything from their exchange yesterday. “Hi, Nesta.”

She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Sit down,” he said cheerfully. “Please. I’m just about done.”

“All right,” she mumbled, sitting at the table. He set it. With… mats. She didn’t even know he had mats.

“Here we are,” he said, bringing over two dishes. She narrowed her eyes when she saw them. Duck and a sweet potato casserole. He was clearly trying to get in her good graces.

But what was this new tactic he’s using?

He took her plate and scooped too much food onto it; she’d never be able to eat that much. But she took it from him anyway. He poured her a glass of water.

This was too odd.

“How was your week?” he asked her.

“Fine,” she said after a beat. “Yours?” She stabbed some of the duck with her fork and twirled it.

“Long, as I said.” His expression turned more serious. “And I didn’t like how we left things.”

Nesta froze.  _ This  _ was not fake cordial. This was entirely too confrontational.

“I know you won’t forgive me any time soon, but can you let me try and make it up to you?”

She wanted the earth to swallow her up or some bird to crash into the house and carry her away—some Illyrian, maybe. The hope and sadness on his face was entirely too real, disorientingly different than what she was expecting and had prepared for.

Her eyes darted around the room—then at her own hand when he covered it with his.

“I’m really going to try, Nesta,” he said, voice low.

“Try what?” she said, finally finding her voice. It didn’t sound as scared as she felt, which she considered a win.

“To do right by you,” he said.

Nesta’s eyes dropped from his face back to their hands. He still hadn’t let her go.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she said in a small voice, “How?”

Here he grinned again. “We can start with dinner.” He took his hand back and began to eat, watching her intently.

After a few seconds, Nesta did too, trying the duck. Lemony, which she wasn’t expecting, but… she liked it.

He could tell. She looked at him and she knew he could tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First I want to say I hope you're all keeping safe. I know it can be hard to stay in your home--work, necessities, just cabin fever--but it's so important. For your safety and your weaker loved ones and even young and healthy people because actually, we are not immune.  
I have been thinking about you guys. I really hope this fic has managed to give you a bit of escapism, or comfort, or anything to take your mind off the trauma of day-to-day life in a global crisis. I really am going to try to update much faster to do the smallest thing I can to maybe make someone just a bit happier in these rough times.  
Lastly, I want to say to those of you who mostly read fic: write some! Even if it's horrible and you don't want to share it with anyone ever! With so little we can do safely (my country has restricted movement; no one is allowed 100 meters away from their house), creating is one of the few active, productive things left. So write. Or draw. Something that isn't passive enjoyment. Keeps your soul healthy.  
I love you guys. Stay safe. Stay healthy. Stay home.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my darlings. I hope this finds you in good health. Chapter Thirteen is, of course, dedicated to Taylor Swift.  
Hope your Passover was lovely! Or whatever other springtime holiday you celebrate:P  
Thanks a million to Gabriela, my lovely beta.  
And of course, my deepest gratitude to you, dear reader, who helped my silly little made up world of a made up world reach over 7k hits. I love you guys<3

November 7 - 4 years after

It’s early morning when he arrives in Velaris. He’s exhausted, having spent a long day in the Illyrian mountains after flying back from Gilameyva. It is miserable to be back in the mountains, and more miserable still to arrive in Velaris and learn that it’s not any better.

If anything, it’s worse. Because he had expected to be happier here than in Illyria—who wouldn’t? The two barely belong in the same court, with one so picturesque and overflowing with joy and the other a messy series of war camps, still bleeding out from the hasty stitches patched upon it after the rebellions—and he isn’t. He can’t be happy anywhere, now.

“You’re back.”

Cassian turns to see the surprised pleasure in Mor’s voice echoed on her face. He gives her an easy grin. “Miss me?”

She slugs his arm lightly as she grins back. “Not particularly.” Her tone changes, more gentle. “How were they?”

He stifles a sigh. He worries he might break down sobbing if he lets it out. “They’re… amazing.”

“Good,” she says, rubbing her hand on his shoulder. “That’s good.”

Cassian sits himself down in one of the large armchairs, draping his wings over the back. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s good.”

She curls up on one of the couches beside him. “You miss them.”

It’s not a question, so he doesn’t answer. Just nods his head a little.

He’s heard before, that people who don’t have children simply can’t understand. He has, privately, rolled his eyes. For he has loved before, has he not? Rhys and Az and then Mor and even Amren, and the whole Illyria and the Night Court and Feyre and then for those few months with her in the mountains, he had loved Nesta.

This is not the same.

He doesn’t  _ miss _ them. That’s not nearly enough. But he’s never been one for words, so the slight nod is all he can give.

“Did you ask her to bring them for Solstice?”

He frowns slightly; he doesn’t like how she phrases it. It isn’t consciously done, he knows. Mor has no malicious intent. But he doesn’t like the implication that she is bringing them for  _ them _ , the children, to be here, and not  _ them _ , a family unit that is he and Nesta and the triplets, to be together.

But he supposes she is right. If Nesta comes, it won’t be for her sake. Not for a  _ them _ .

“I did. She’ll think about it.”

Mor’s better at hiding her frown than he is, but he can still see it in her eyes.

“It’s her right to say no,” he defends. Which he doesn’t like. He doesn’t like it because it’s true and it might happen and also because he doesn’t want to have to defend Nesta to Mor or Rhys or Amren, or even Az sometimes. At least Feyre and Elain love her too, and they have some semblance of camaraderie with him in that.

He doesn’t like it rather selfishly: he wants to defend his right to have his family for Solstice, but because his other family doesn’t see Nesta as part of them, he has to defend her.

Cassian wonders, briefly, if this is how Feyre ever felt. Trapped between two realms, two families. Or maybe even Rhys.

“I didn’t mean it wasn’t,” she says carefully. “Just… you’re their father too.”

“It’s different.” He looks at his hands, callused and scarred. “Even if I had been with them since they were born… I still wouldn’t be with them all the time.”

“You’re keeping them safe,” she says. “You’re keeping the world safe for them. That’s important too.”

_ Sugar Valley is safe _ , he thinks, but he keeps it to himself. No one will care, of course. They will be sympathetic. They’ll think he’s bitter, upset, think they can help him get past his guilt and move on.

But he doesn’t think it ever will. And the thought of staying anonymous in a sleepy town across the sea winks at him from the dying starlight as the sun rises over the Sidra.

* * *

November 21 - year after

The cheery pastels of the clinic were not helping to improve Nesta’s mood. Nor were the mother and child, hand in hand, waiting across from her.

The child blinked up at her from long lashes, blushing slightly when she made eye contact. She looked away in alarm as he gave her a pleased grin.

There should be a different room for children, she thought. When people were coming for… this.

It wasn’t that she felt guilty. She just didn’t want to think about it.

So she counted the sugarberries painted on the walls, and before long, Dadashov called her name.

“Good morning, Miss Archeron,” she said smoothly. “Can I offer you some tea?”

“No. Thank you.” How could she eat anything now? With every movement of her stomach feeling like something entirely different than butterflies.

“All right, then,” she said. “If you’d lie down, please...”

Nesta did, fidgeting with her skirts.

“How does the… procedure… how do you do it?”

“Well,” Dadashov said, hooking some wired contraption around her ears, “The procedure itself is only a tonic. A bit sour. You’ll stay here for a few hours, until the worst of the cramps have past, so I can keep an eye on you, and you’ll be home by afternoon. Rest for the next day or so. Until you feel yourself again. Before that,” Dadashov continued, either completely oblivious to or respectfully ignoring Nesta’s panic at  _ feeling herself again _ , “I’ll need to do a quick check to make sure everything is in order.”

“Everything in order? With me, or…?”

“Certain conditions in the uterus rendering this particular tonic unusable or harmful to your body are rare but not unheard of. And we’ll need to make sure the fetus is in its correct position.”

“Where else would it be?” she wondered.

“Let’s not worry about that now,” she said gently. “I’m going to listen in, all right? I have this sheet… if you could raise your skirts, please… thank you. This won’t hurt a bit; it’s only rather cold.”

Nesta sucked in a breath as Dadashov placed the circle her wires are connected to on her lower stomach. Cold was an understatement.

Dadashov was silent for a few moments as she listened to… Nesta wasn’t sure.

“Hm,” she said quietly.

“Everything all right?” she asked, feeling stupid.

“Well,” she said, taking off her contraption and sitting up. “The heartbeat is irregular.”

“Irregular?”

“Erratic. Wild. No discernible rhythm at all, actually.” 

Nesta’s own heartbeat sped up, though she wasn’t sure why. What did it matter if the heartbeat wasn’t normal? It wouldn’t be beating by sundown, anyway. “What does that mean?”

“A number of things. What I’m most concerned about right now is the natural state of your uterus. It could mean it’s shaped improperly or perhaps a growth pressing up against the fetus, preventing it from growing properly and affecting its heart rate. No cause for concern,” she said, giving Nesta a reassuring smile. “I’m calm because you are clearly healthy and if anything is amiss, I am here and we will take care of it. How is your cycle normally?”

“Um,” Nesta said. “Normal. It’s normal, I think.”

“Twice a year? About a week?”

“So far,” she said.

Dadashov smiled again, her light blue eyes twinkling. “Of course. My apologies. Until your transition, did you experience your cycle once a month?”

She said everything so calmly, so smoothly. Transition. Like some kind of choice. Or moving up in the world. “Yes. Well. Not every month. Sometimes… but that’s normal. Sometimes human girls miss a month.” A horrible thought struck Nesta. “Is it… could it be something I did? With… a contra—”

“Neither sex nor contraceptives could have a misshaping effect on your body, Miss Archeron,” she said firmly. “This is no one’s fault. I’m going to do a test. I’m going to be looking inside your body.”

“Inside my body?”

“Perhaps you’d like to close your eyes,” she said kindly. “It’s not horribly invasive, but it will feel odd. No, no, you don’t have to move. It’s a bit of magic. I put it on top of your lower abdomen.”

On top of her… to look inside her body… “Are you going to see...” Nesta trailed off.

“Perhaps you’d like to close your eyes,” she repeated.

Nesta did. Dadashov moved quickly, quietly, which made it rather eerie when something suddenly settled atop her. A bit of pressure, squeezing her—odd, not painful, just like she said.

“Ah,” Dadashov breathed out.

What was that Nesta could hear? Was it… awe?

“What is it?”

Dadashov was silent for a beat. “Miss Archeron, there is nothing wrong with your body. The heartbeat was irregular because I was hearing more than one.”

“You mean mine?”

“No,” she said, patient. “Not yours.”

Her heart gave a lurch. “You mean… twins?”

“No,” Dadashov said, softer still. “I mean triplets.”

Triplets.

Triplets. Inside of her. Right now.

Nesta could feel her mind shut down. “You mean three of them?” she blurted out, in the most idiotic way she possibly could, her eyes flying open.

“I do.”

Nesta closed her eyes again.

“Would you like to see?” she offered quietly.

Nesta put her hands right over where… where they were supposed to be. She sat up abruptly.

“No,” she said. “I need to… think.”

* * *

November 7 - 4 years after

He can’t concentrate during the briefing. After being with them for so long… and then coming back here… it’s too much. He’s angry at himself; what if he misspeaks? What if he misses something? This is dangerous.

But he can’t help it. His thoughts are elsewhere.

Nothing had taken away from his love and devotion to this court, to his people, his legions, before. Not even Nesta.

That’s why she had left. He never could find the balance.

Not like Rhys and Feyre, seated next to each other, the perfect mix of professional and adoring. Strategic discussions and little touches here and there: her hair, his thigh.

Is he even a good commander if he can’t concentrate?

They can sense it, all of them. It’s an odd display of cautionary tact that comes up now, whenever Nesta and the children are involved.

So Cassian’s not surprised when Rhys corners him after.

“I’m out of practice,” he says, jerking his head in the direction of the sparring ring. “Join me?”

So he does.

He’s better than Rhys at hand-to-hand, and it does force him to concentrate on something else, which is… nice.

When they’re done, half an hour later, Rhys says, “How did it go?”

Cassian looses a breath slowly as he swirls around the water in the cup Rhys hands him. “So well,” he says, all the gratitude in the world in his voice.

“That’s good,” he says, echoing Mor’s sentiments from earlier.

“I need them.” He’s never said it aloud before.

“I know.”

“All of them. Nesta too.”

“I know,” Rhys repeats. “That’s why I want them here.”

Cassian snorts. “You want Nesta here?”

“I want you here. Happy. And Feyre. Elain. She’s a part of that. And I’m certainly not suggesting we move the children back and forth.”

Cassian pauses. “I don’t know if… Nesta… could be happy here.”

Rhys is quiet for a minute, drinking his water. “I don’t know her very well,” he says finally, “but I think anyone could be happy here. Given the correct circumstances.” He hesitates. “Have you thought about… getting an apartment?”

Cassian clenches his jaw.

“You said you want her to come for Solstice. I doubt she’ll want to stay here. Or the townhouse. Or the House of Wind. Maybe you should have a place that’s just for you.”

He does like that—that Rhys says  _ you  _ as if there is a  _ them _ . Perhaps he understands, in a way Mor does not.

“I wish they got along,” he says aloud.

“Who?”

“Nesta and Mor.”

Rhys laughs. “Maybe Emerie can bond them.”

He doubts it. The idea of Nesta and Mor being friends is too ludicrous to even entertain. Neither of them are particularly keen on forgiveness, and they have plenty of reasons to loathe each other. Most of which he doesn’t understand.

“I think she’ll come,” he says.

“You do?” Rhys wouldn’t give him false hope. And he genuinely doesn’t know the answer.

“I do,” he says. “Mostly because Feyre thinks she will, too,” he admits. “But also… I don’t know her well, but I do know enough. I know she’s scared to fail her children.”

It’s a chilling line, miserable to hear. Cassian doesn’t want Nesta to come because she’s scared of what will happen if she doesn’t; he wants her to want to come.

“There’s a place I think you’ll like,” Rhys continues, either unaware of Cassian’s reaction or respectfully ignoring it. “Property just went up for sale. Four bedrooms. Nice yard. Good location.” Rhys gives him the address.

“I’ll look at it,” he says.  _ Four bedrooms _ , he thinks.

* * *

December 19 - Year of

Despite what Nesta told Emerie before her dinner with Cassian, the past three weeks had not been fake cordial. They hadn’t even been real cordial.

They had been… friendly.

They had breakfast together, when he was there. And dinner, too. He always had dinner ready for her when she came home.

(That was something alarming: she began to think of coming back to Cassian’s house as coming home.)

He brought her more books to read. He didn’t speak of his brothers or her sisters. Neither did she. They talked about food. About the going-ons in the neighboring camps. About themselves.

He still teased her, but when she snapped at him for it, she wasn’t really angry.

She had almost forgotten they were supposed to be treading on eggshells until he reminded her.

He said, “I need to go back to Velaris. For Solstice.”

Her eyes flashed, but she was still staring at her book, so perhaps he didn’t see. “Oh, when is that?” she asked, in a would-be casual tone. She knew full well, and he knew she did, too.

“Two days.”

“Oh.”

Perhaps the both of them were thinking… no, they were both  _ definitely _ thinking of their last Solstice together. If they could call it that.

Then it was Cassian’s turn to pretend. “Do you want to come along?”

Nesta put down her book and leaned back against the couch. “No,” she said, looking up at the ceiling and locking her fingers behind her head. “I think I’ll stay here.”

“All right,” he said evenly. He sat down beside her—a little closer than he had ever done before. “Well, I leave you then with this… to keep you company.”

Nesta looked down at his outstretched hand.

The chocolate bar. The one she still hadn’t touched.

A wry sort of chuckle escaped her as she rolled her eyes at him. “Thanks,” she said as she took it from him, her fingers jolting as they brushed his.

He grinned wickedly. “Anytime.”

She dropped her gaze quickly. “You’re bothering me.” She took her book back.

He laughed. “I’ll see you in a few days, Nes.”

“Don’t call me that,” she grumbled.

But again, it was only halfhearted.

* * *

November 21 - 1 year after

What Nesta wanted when she stumbled out of the clinic was somewhere quiet, alone, to gather her thoughts. Or scream.

Instead she got that deer-satyr from Sugar Books, holding up a cup of something steaming.

“Hey,” he said pleasantly. “I was just coming over to bring you this.”

“Oh, for the love of all that is holy,” she said under her breath. Louder, to him, she said, “I really can’t right now.”

“Just a drink,” he said, holding it out to her. “Do you like chocolate?”

She bit her lip. She did like chocolate. She did not like feeling like she owed males something.

“Just take it,” he encouraged. “And come on. I can show you some place nice to sit.”

It wasn’t that she wanted to go with him. It’s that she had nowhere else.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, not realizing she had spoken aloud until he answered.

“About what?”

“I don’t...” she mumbled to herself. “I don’t think… I can’t...”

“Woah, Nesta. Here. Sit down. Here, drink some of this.”

It wasn’t the same. One was quiet, a bad memory, hazy. Something she could convince herself didn’t happen.

But three? Three was so… real. Three different beings. Three different people! How could there be three people inside of her, growing and feeding off of her? All together? How small must they be, for them all to fit?

And they all had heartbeats. Three tiny hearts, beating out of sync with each other deep inside her. Each of them with its own rhythm, its own strong pulse.

In another life, another world, another body, three sisters had once shared a bed. What would have happened if they had shared time in the womb? All three of them, together?

Sisters deserved beds of their own, that much she knew for sure.

Three was too much. Too much to think about, and yet too much to have.

_ Bad things come in threes _ . Didn’t they say that? People said that, she was sure of it.

Maybe, she thought wildly, she could keep one. Just one. And the others… somehow… 

No. That was crazy. She couldn’t do that. Could she?

And how would she choose?

“I can’t do this,” she said again.

“Nesta, please, drink this.” Zayn wrapped her fingers around the cup. “Go on, drink.”

As the hot, berry-chocolate drink slipped down her throat, she realized three other people were going to have it, too.

“I—I,” Nesta stammered.

“What is it?” He sounded too eager. Was that concern?

“I… I have to… get a house.”

* * *

November 8 - 4 years after

Rhys was right. He does like the house.

It’s a great location. Comfortable walk from the bank of the Sidra he always sees families play. Close enough to the Rainbow that they can walk there, too. A bakery on the corner, a butcher’s just beyond, and a market a block down. And a nursery, too, just three streets away.

It’s spacious. Big windows and less doors than there are rooms. There’s a proper dining area—Nesta’s house doesn’t really have one, just the table in the kitchen.

Of the bedrooms, two are a bit smaller than the third, so that, he supposes, is where the children can stay while they all sleep in the same room. A nice tub in that bathroom, which is good, they’re still small enough that they bathe together… 

And he’s just pushed open the door to the master when he hears Amren say from behind him, “In the market for a family home?”

He turns. “Are you? I thought Varian was looking romanced last I saw him. That explains it.”

She rolls her eyes where she once might have bared her teeth. “Close to a nursery,” she says, pushing past him to stand in the room. “And you can see all the way to the park from here,” she adds, peering through the window. “Good for if you’re staying in bed.”

Now Cassian rolls his eyes, if only to hide the clench in his jaw.

“Is she coming for Solstice, then?”

Amren says it the same way she says everything: cool, detached, unbothered. But Cassian knows. “She hasn’t given me an answer yet.”

Amren pretends to take interest in the sample decorative pillows. “What do you think she’ll say?”

“I don’t know. Yes, I hope.”

She puts down the pillow. “You’re too hopeful. It doesn’t help you think.”

“You’ve not asked about her at all,” he says, sitting down on the bed.

“I don’t think there’s anything I want to know.” She doesn’t say it with malice.

“You don’t care?”

“She’s alive. She’s fine.”

“We thought she was dead.”

“We were wrong.” She pauses. “If you had known… where she was… would you have gone?”

“Of course,” he says immediately.

“Why did you not go when you knew she was in Montesere?”

He flinches.  _ Do you even care about her _ ? is what she’s asking.  _ Is it only for the children _ ?

Every regret he has has something to do with her. 

“Why didn’t you go?”

“I do not go now,” she says simply. “I was angry when she left. When we thought she was dead and we looked for her I was angry. And I’m angry now.”

“She’s not the only one to blame.”

Amren shrugs. “I can be angry at more than one person. Don’t sit on the bed like that.”

“Like what?”

“Longing. Yearning. Pathetic.”

“I’m not yearning.”

“You are. It doesn’t flatter you. Nesta will come.”

“How do you know that?” She sounds so certain, so matter-of-fact and cavalier.

She gestures to him. “It’s not one-sided.”

Cassian moves his eyes out towards the window, feeling very out his element. “She has a life of her own.”

“I know about her bookstore. That doesn’t matter.”

“It matters.”

She waves a hand. “Not in the grand scheme of things. Nesta Archeron is very much herself. She doesn’t change. She decides on things before she knows she wants them. And she doesn’t change her mind.”

Amren leaves him alone with his thoughts. She’s simplifying things, he knows, but he desperately hopes the core of it is right.

She had asked him why he didn’t go. He waits in masochistic anticipation for the day Nesta asks him that as well. Why he had not followed up on her letters, vague and frustrating as they were.

There’s nothing he can really do about it now. Except maybe make an offer on the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! Getting into Cassian's POV was fun; I hope I did it justice! Please let me know what you think, if you're able.  
Till next time. Stay healthy!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my darlings. So. Here it is. Chapter fourteen. Anyone who talks to me in the comments or on my tumblr might be familiar with it because I mention it every so often. So I'm very nervous!! I'm curious as to what you think is going to happen, and of course dying to know what you think. And a little bit scared as well!! But I won't blather on anymore. Enjoy! (I hope you do lol!!)

November 9 - 4 years after

When Feyre sees Cassian the day after he arrives in Velaris after over a week away, he is unrecognizable from the day before. It had been depressing to see him like that. Somehow worse than when they had lost Nesta years ago. That unhealthy anger was better than this proper misery, this depressing lack, the only trace of anything in his being guilt.

But the day after, the usual twinkle is in his eye and he says to her directly, looking over Rhys, “Nesta and the triplets are coming for Solstice.”

She jumps up. “Are you serious?”

" She just sent word. I’ll tell Elain. Where is she?”

“Garden.”

He shoots her a grin before leaving to find her, whistling slightly as he goes.

Feyre laughs. “He’s happy now.”

Rhys hums in agreement. “Are you?”

She takes a minute to think about it. “I’m...happy with you,” she says slowly. “With our people. And our family, here. But it’s not just that Nesta isn’t here. It’s that things aren’t right with her.”

“Cassian wants her to move here.”

Feyre hesitates. “I don’t think she will.”

“What about what you want?”

She shrugs. “Sure, I want that. I want my sisters and my niece and nephews close to me. Why wouldn’t I want that? But Nesta worked hard for her home on the Continent.”

“There’s nothing there that doesn’t exist here,” he says gently.

“I don’t understand,” Feyre says, a wry smile on her face. “Do you miss Nesta?” She doesn’t feel any guilt thinking that—there is no love lost between her mate and her sister, not on either side.

An identical smile tugs at Rhys’ lips. “Can’t say I particularly do. But if you and Cassian want her here...and the children, obviously.”

“Nicky looks so much like Cassian,” Feyre says for the umpteenth time. She can’t keep the excitement out of her voice—it will never cease to amaze her, how she can see bits and pieces of Cass and Nesta and even herself and Elain and their father in three little creatures. It never fails to make her long for her own child, the little boy the Bone Carver had shown her. With Rhys’ hair, with her lips...lips that Nesta and Ava share as well. Will the resemblance be clear enough, if they all stand together one day? Will everyone know just by looking that they are a family?

“Cassian looked at a house.”

“What, here in Velaris?”

Rhys shows her the outside. Bigger than Nesta’s house in Sugar Valley, and not the same style at all. In fact, this one looks vaguely similar to the townhouse they had once spent most of their time in.

“Four bedrooms,” he says.

Feyre’s heart sinks. Four bedrooms. For a family. But what are the chances that Nesta will actually to agree to live there?

_ I really want her to _ . Even the voice inside her head sounds small. She misses her sister.

At once, Feyre decides she can’t wait till Solstice. “I’m going to visit her,” she says.

If Rhys doesn’t think she should, he keeps it to himself. “With Elain?”

“No,” she says. “I’d like to speak to her alone. Without a buffer.” Without a shield. “This is long overdue.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. She won’t...” Feyre struggles to find the right words. “She’s agreed to come for Solstice. I think we should keep her interactions with you...to a minimum.”

Rhys laughs as she grins apologetically. “Fine,” he says. “But...hurry back.” He tilts her face upward to kiss her.

She floods the love he sends to her back at him, tenfold.  _ I will _ , she says silently.

But not before she gets what she’s going for.

* * *

November 22 - 1 year after

With the mess of her finding out she was pregnant with triplets across the sea from everything she had ever known, Nesta thought she might be entitled to a bit of courteous privacy, but evidently, the citizens of Sugar Valley disagreed, and when she arrived at work, Miri was waiting for her in the area of the back room she normally worked in, with two steaming mugs of something.

I t wasn’t that Nesta hated these people, it was that she could not understand why everyone in the world couldn’t simply mind their own business and why they had to be so interested in other people’s lives. Namely, hers. But the smell from the mugs was the same as that chocolate-berry drink Zeyn had given her yesterday, and since she had had it, it was all she could think about.

Well. That and the three fetuses currently growing inside her.

So she sat down and took the mug.

“Nesta, dear,” Miri said, voice dripping with sympathy.

Nesta stifled the urge to roll her eyes—she didn’t need coddling or anything of the sort. Sure, yesterday had been a bit of a shock, but she was fine now. Her thoughts were gathered. She would go through with the pregnancy and…well, that was the most important thing. That she knew  _ that _ , at least.

But Miri only continued with, “You must be so hungry and tired,” and that, because it was the exact right thing to say, was apparently the exact wrong thing to say.

Nesta knew very well how to deal with people saying the wrong thing to her. Perhaps it could be argued that she did not deal with it particularly well, but she had her methods. But someone saying the right thing to her was so much more rare. And she wasn’t sure if it was being away from her sisters, or him, or the three little parasites in her uterus, or maybe the berries in the water, but—to her horror—Nesta could feel her throat and eyes begin to burn at Miri’s innocent statement.

“Oh, poor dear...”

“I’m fine,” she nearly sobbed, sounding shrill even to herself.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, running a hand up and down her back. “We’ll take care of you...we’ll write to whomever you want…”

This nearly made Nesta lose control completely, and she shoved a fist against her mouth to keep from crying out. She didn’t want to send a letter…she didn’t want this in writing, didn’t want it to be real.

Nesta’s pathetic attempts to stop herself from making any noise and the tears blurring her vision and the sudden uptick in her body’s temperature left her, unfortunately, in a coughing fit. Her whole form shook, racked with emotion, and for a very frightening few minutes indeed, she couldn’t even feel Miri sitting next to her.

But she came back to herself eventually, and Miri was still there. Still stroking her back, still murmuring to her, half in the common tongue, half in Gilameyvan.

“It’ll be all right,” she kept saying. “Everything will be all right.”

Nesta didn’t think she believed her.

* * *

November 11 - 4 years after

Nesta’s had quite enough of her own cowardice and marches herself to the table Zeyn is sitting at, ignoring Xeyale’s greeting. “I need to talk to you,” she says to him.

His brown face tenses for a moment. But it disappears quickly, replaced by his usual friendly, patient smile. “All right,” he says, standing up.

She turns on her heel and leads him to the back room. “Out, Maz,” she commands.

“I’m working!”

“Well, work in the front,” she snaps.

“Sorry, Maz,” Zeyn says with a laugh, as he passes by with a scowl. He laughs again. “I guess this’ll be a good talk, then. Nothing makes you happier than yelling at Maz.”

Nesta ignores the guilt stirring her stomach at the twinkle in his eye. “I didn’t yell.”

“Oh, semantics.” He sits down. “What’s up?”

Nesta allows herself a few more moments to summon her nerve—swallows once, squares her shoulders, then says, “I’m taking the children to Velaris for Solstice.”

The teasing glint winks out of his eyes and his deerlike ears still. “And you...think this is a good idea.”

She’s not sure how much of a right he has to be upset, but it does irritate her a bit. “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think it was a good idea.” She tries to keep the bite out of her voice. “I’ve never cared much for Solstice, you know that. And their father does. So it does seem to make sense that they celebrate it on his terms.”

As if presenting the argument as entirely logical, as only sensible, will make him believe and accept it.

“But we celebrate Solstice here.”

T hey do—they have, since she came here. And it’s...fun. It was always nice to see her children enjoying themselves. Last year they were even old enough to not only appreciate getting gifts, but also anticipate Solstice before it happened. It was important enough that they remember it, and still bring it up occasionally.

“Maybe we can celebrate two Solstices,” she suggests.

He frowns. “Summer?”

“No, I mean...one here, one there.”

“I always thought of it as our holiday,” he says. “Just the five of us.”

This definitely irks Nesta. He should know better than anyone she doesn’t see any holidays as her own. It’ll always feel frivolous and treacherous to her. “We’ve never celebrated it just the five of us,” she says. “We’ve always done something with the whole shop.”

She really hates this—arguing with Zeyn. She always feels like she’s in the wrong. He’s never seen her as she is; he always sees her as something better. 

He hates arguing with her as well, and she can see by his eyes darting around and the slight shuffle of his hooved feet that he’s going to drop it. She’s relieved, because she’s a coward, but a small part of her is disappointed. They are long overdue for a lengthy discussion regarding his vision for a happy little mixed family of five, and her desires for her children and herself.

It’s her fault, of course, that they had not had this conversation years ago, and so she can’t be upset with him when he finally gives a little shrug and says, “I’m sure you’re doing what you think is best.”

If it’s the tiniest bit irritating, that is prickly Nesta’s own fault, too. He isn’t trying to upset her—he’s Zeyn.

“You know I wouldn’t if I didn’t.”

He smiles at her, sweet and sincere. “I do.” His warm brown eyes crinkle. “When will you be going?”

“Only next month,” Nesta says. Probably only a day or so before Solstice—just because she wants them to enjoy the holiday with Cassian doesn’t mean she’s been deluded into thinking she’s going to have a particularly fun time herself. No need to make it longer than necessary.

" Let me know. I can help you pack.”

T here’s no malice, no bitterness she can detect in his voice. She stifles a relieved sigh. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t answer, only smiles.

“I need to find Adil,” she says. “I’m going to be scouting for authors.”

He raises an eyebrow. “In Prythian? They don’t traditionally publish here…”

“It’s a new age,” she says, shrugging. And it’s true. While Prythian has generally been secluded, she has learned, since the defeat of Hybern they have tentatively been more open with trade amongst nations that hadn’t sided with their enemies. She imagines it’ll take longer for any partnerships with Montesere to kick in.

Adil is torn when she tells him of her plans. On the one hand, she knows, he is skeptical of her going. He has never liked Zeyn’s affection towards her, but he has also no reason to like Cassian or her sisters.

His blue lips purse, and she suppresses a smile as she can see the other side of the equation spin around in his head—that he definitely wants to be the first Gilameyvan bookstore to publish an author from Prythian.

“You’re a good mother and a sensible employee,” he says finally.

S he tries to stifle a blush, but she’s too taken by surprise. “Thank you,” she says.

“Let us know before you leave. We’ll give you gifts to take with you.”

“I will,” she promises. He and Miri dote on her children; Solstice is a fun time for her to watch the five of them.

That's the thing about Solstice, Nesta thinks as she gathers her children from nursery and heads back to her house. It’s not that she’s against the familial nature of it all, the loving closeness during the coldest time of the year. She’s not a monster. It’s a nice idea, and it’s fun to watch her children get excited over gifts and whatever art projects they’re doing in nursery.

Before she had them, her main issue with Solstice was that it felt like giving in to the Fae. Like surrendering the last of her humanity. For they did not have holidays South of the Wall. Why should they? What was sacred to a people abandoned by the gods? If one had to be powerful to be loved by the faes’ so-called Holy Mother, she didn’t want anything to do with Her anyway.

And now? Now she likes the joy it sparks in the people around her. But this time of family only ever serves to remind her that she is missing half of hers. Blame can be shoved this way and that, but when everyone around her is thanking their Creator for all their loved ones around them, whose fault it is is the last thing on Nesta’s mind.

“Mummy, when is Appa coming back?” Nicky asks her when they get home.

“I still don’t know, Nicky,” she says patiently. Then she pauses. Now seems as good a time as ever to tell them, she guesses. “We’re actually going to visit him soon, though.”

“Go and visit?” Avery asks.

Nesta helps Ollie take off his outer things. “Yes,” she says. “Do you know where he lives? With your aunts?”

“Do they all live together?”

Well. “Yes.” It’s true enough. She doesn’t think Elain has gotten her own house in the past three years—there’s no way she’ll live on her own, and as long as she isn’t married, she won’t live with a male, so she’s definitely still living with Feyre. And Cassian hasn’t bothered to get his own place in Velaris in the past five hundred years or so; she can’t imagine anything has changed as of late.

“In a  _ very  _ big house, Mummy.”

“Yes, it’s a very big house, Avery.”

" It’s very very very  _ very  _ big!” Nicky says.

" They live all the way across the sea,” she says, stopping them before they can get into her least favorite game. 

" Where’s the sea?” Nicky asks.

" It’s to the west.”

" Are we going on a boat?” Ollie asks.

" No,” she laughs. “We’ll probably winnow.”

" Maybe we can fly,” Nicky says hopefully.

“Absolutely not.”

“Maybe we will.”

“No. We will not. Does that sound like fun, though? Does going to spend Solstice across the sea with Appa and your aunts sound like fun?”

“It sounds like so much fun!” Avery says.

“Do they have orange juice across the sea?” Nicky says.

“We can’t fly because it’s too far and Mummy can’t fly,” Ollie says.

“Yeah, Nicky, Mummy can’t fly.”

“Do they have orange juice or not?”

“All right,” Nesta cuts in. Apparently they don’t care as much as everyone else seems to. She’s sure they’ll bring it up again closer to the date. “Let’s get something to eat.”

There’s lots she has to think about, she realizes. Duration of their stay, how they’re getting there...she doesn’t ever take them along on her—ahem—preferred method of travel. And oh, she’ll need to take a trip to the lake before they leave. She’s not going to want to have all that magic pent up inside her while she’s there, and it’ll be best for all parties involved if she’s at her calmest upon arrival.

Amren will be there. Her first...friend, in Prythian. So different from Amorette, and yet the comfort she feels in the latter’s presence is so reminiscent of what she used to feel doing a jigsaw puzzle at that demon’s apartment. She’s not spoken to her for longer than she hadn’t spoken to her sisters...neither of them had attempted to seek the other out after their last fight.

“Can we go to the park now, Mummy?” Nicky asks her after they’ve been fed.

Nesta glances outside. A light drizzle has already begun. “No, angel, it’s going to rain. Let’s play inside today.”

There’s a bit of grumbling about this, but they are—as always—mollified when she starts out the game herself. Sometimes it’s coloring, sometimes building blocks. Today she’s situated herself inside the little house Cassian had erected for them during his visit. The three of them scramble to join her; it’s only a few seconds before Avery has declared the rules of this little house and their roles in it. This game lasts an hour and then, mercifully, transforms into “art projects” at the kitchen table. More of a mess for Nesta to clean up later, but less exhaustive.

She’s allowed not to partake in order to prepare dinner for them. She smiles to herself as she cooks; she’s always loved listening to them talk amongst themselves. They’re good friends; she thinks they would be even if they weren’t siblings.

After dinner, bathtime, a bit more play, and a bedtime story (Ollie’s turn to choose), Nesta walks back downstairs to make something for herself to eat. She pours herself a glass of wine and sits in the living room, in her favorite corner of the couch, with a notebook. She’s got to make a list of everything she needs to prepare before leaving. She’s never taken them anywhere farther than Privet Falls a town over.

A knock on the door interrupts her. She sighs as she stands up to open it. Probably Zeyn, upset at her decision. She did think, earlier, that he had given in a tad too easily. Although such is Zeyn’s way: he never confronts her. He’s not a warrior type.

But it is not Zeyn’s warm brown eyes staring back at her when she opens the door. It’s her own grey-blue.

“Feyre,” she says, too surprised to say anything else.

“I know I probably should’ve given you some notice,” her sister says apologetically. “Sorry. I just...had to see you.” She swallows and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Come in,” she says, stepping aside.

She’s not sure what her feelings are on Feyre showing up on her front doorstep. She’s too taken aback to think straight, so she says, “Can I get you some wine? Or something else to drink,” she adds.

" Whatever you’re having is fine.”

Nesta pours her sister a glass of white on crushed ice and hands it to her. She takes wordlessly and downs half of it.

“Are you staying here?” Nesta asks suddenly, the thought only just occurring to her.

" I don’t know,” she replies.  _ That depends on you _ , she doesn’t say.

Well, she’s not going to throw her sister out onto the street, but she hasn’t decided if she wants her sleeping here. Will she go to the inn to spend the night? Or will she winnow back? Or fly? Does she still fly very often?

“How are the triplets?” Feyre says, finally breaking the silence.

“Well,” Nesta says. “Very well. Happy. Healthy.” Well, Ollie might still be a little underweight...but as long as his lungs are strong, his healer says...

“I heard you’re coming for Solstice.”

“Oh. Yes.”

Feyre nods. She opens her mouth a few times but can’t seem to find anything to say.

Not for long, of course. Not her brash little sister. On her fourth try, she says, “Why didn’t you write to say you were pregnant?”

Nesta doesn’t hesitate. “Why didn’t you write to say you were alive?”

Feyre flinches. Then she laughs a little; more bitter than amused, but there isn’t any malice. “I guess that’s fair.”

Elain would never say so. And as a mother she can’t really say that two sisters hurting each other makes it fair, but as a sister...well, she’s not upset that Feyre agrees, at any rate.

“You know, that first letter,” Feyre starts, her eyes on Nesta but clearly seeing something else—Nesta’s own eyes see that dock in Montesere— “we ripped it open. We were so...after the note you left Cassian? And then we were so angry…”

“You were  _ angry _ ?”

Well, we were hurt. And the lines kind of blur when emotions run high.”

Nesta has nothing to say to that. A few moments ago she was more pleased that she and Feyre shared the same thoughts; now she is remembering how much she used to hate it as a girl.

“Your other letters weren’t much better.”

" At least I sent them,” she snaps.

" I know,” Feyre says. She sets her wine glass down. Her voice is thin, tight. "But...in your letter. After your note."

Nesta slowly moves to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. They have not yet spoken outright of her leaving, just of her having been gone.

"Because you said you were drowning."

"Feyre." Nesta stops herself.

"Why did you leave?" she blurts out. "I thought things were going well! I thought you and Cassian..."

"I know what you thought."

"So what happened?"

"I don't want to discuss this, Feyre."

"Well, I do!" Feyre says, and she straightens, snapping herself up. "I want to know why you had to leave, when we had finally got things going well for you!"

At this, Nesta freezes. "When  _ you _ ...had got things going well...for  _ me _ ?"

If Feyre is unsure of herself at Nesta's tone, she doesn't show it. She nods once, firmly.

Nesta sucks in her lip slightly, but tries to keep it from curling upwards. The children are excited for Solstice, she says to herself. And she doesn't want this to end in anger. Again.

But Feyre has quickened her pulse and risen her temper.

"Tell me, Feyre," she says, her voice cool. "Why was it so sinful, so unforgivable, for Tamlin to keep you in the Spring Court, and yet your right to send me to Illyria?"

Feyre’s mouth parts. “I...”

She’s begun to tremble, and Nesta is irritated at her for this reaction. She shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. She shouldn’t get upset.

“Nesta,” she says, voice catching. “I...I didn’t...I never meant...”

“I know what you meant,” Nesta says, gruffly. She doesn’t want to talk about this.

“I just need to know...if you left…” Feyre trails off. This is unlike her, this anxiousness. “Nesta, am I your villain?”

She blinks. Is she her  _ villain _ ?

" I don’t have a villain,” Nesta says, slightly bewildered. “I’m not a story.”

Who put this in her head? Her idiot husband, probably.  _ He’s the villain, we’re the heroes _ , or some stupid shit like that, as if they were simple fable characters, one-note and flat, instead of people, capable of kindness and manipulation with conflicting desires.

“But...when you said…” Feyre’s lip trembles. Is she—is she going to cry?

Nesta’s mouth parts open a little. When was the last time she saw Feyre cry? That night she got Elain back, during the war?

“When you said you were drowning...in your letter...I need to know if—if I did that.” Her sister’s eyes are wide and searching, fighting back tears. “And now...if I’m like—if you felt how I felt... Please tell me. Because...if that’s true...then I—I’m sorry, Nesta,” and tears do spill out of her eyes and down her cheeks, still rosy from the cold. Or maybe the wine. “I’m sorry.”

Out of love for the first baby Nesta remembers holding, she stifles an eye roll. She moves closer and pats her shoulder tentatively. When Feyre was very young, she had shown her a lot of physical affection, but she doubts she remembers any of that, and it would probably be weird for both of them if she hugged her. “Feyre,” she says, trying to be gentle. How to explain to this...this little girl, made to believe by a male, oh, twenty-seven times her age or so, that she is the most powerful creature in the world, special and essential to the function of the universe...that not all of her elder sister’s choices revolve uniquely around her?

She doesn’t fault Feyre for this, of course. And she doesn’t think Rhysand put it in her head directly— _ You’re the reason your sister left _ does not strike her as the kind of thing he would say—but Feyre’s always been rather miserable at connecting dots.

“Feyre,” she says again. “I don’t have a villain. I chose to leave. Just like you did,” she reminds her, bumping her knee lightly against her. Referring to more than one time, of course. Leaving home and then leaving the Spring Court. “I went of my own volition.” Were there other factors? Of course there were. But nothing she needs to share with her baby sister; certainly not while she cries. Nesta has no desire to hurt her further. She remembers the day Feyre was born. She remembers teaching Feyre to speak. That Feyre does not remember these things is irrelevant; it does not have anything to do with the sacredness of the acts. “But if I did,” she continues, moving closer to her sister, “it wouldn’t be you. You’re not like Tamlin,” she adds. She doesn’t tell her that she thinks her old High Lord and her new one share far more than their race and title.

Tamlin ruined their lives. He sold them out. His treatment of Feyre was enough to make Nesta vomit, and that was only from what she saw at that stupid High Lord meeting. The only thing she doesn’t loathe about her idiot brother-in-law is his patience with Elain.

But she doesn’t blame Feyre for those things. When you meet someone as a baby, she thinks, you see them that way forever.

Feyre wipes at her eyes and takes a deep breath, and Nesta feels another surge of irritation towards her idiot husband. Placing this girl as monarch over a people, after just learning how to read, no political experience or knowledge whatsoever...this is what it’s done to her. Feyre makes mistakes with her sister; the three of them do. But now Feyre believes there’s some echoing magnitude to everything she thinks about. People are angry at Nesta for not hunting alongside Feyre when she was fourteen, but she was only seventeen herself. Seventeen is not old enough to hunt either, just as twenty-six is too young to rule a country forever.

“But...you’re still angry at me.”

T here she goes again, with her black and white world. Nesta gives a little shrug. “I’m not thrilled. I don’t carry anger.”

Feyre frowns. “What do you mean, you don’t carry anger?”

“I just...ignore things. Forget about them.”

“That doesn’t strike me as particularly healthy.”

“Well, I haven’t died yet, so…”

They both pause, and after a moment, laugh a little.

I t’s not that Nesta is at peace with everything that has happened in her life. She most certainly is not. It’s that she doesn’t want to let things affect her relationship with her children. And if there’s one thing her parents taught her, it’s that you can’t be a good mother when you’re carrying pain.

“I’m really happy you’re coming for Solstice,” Feyre says softly.

“I’ll make up a bed for you,” Nesta replies, which is not quite forgiveness, but Nesta is still not quite forgiving.

But there are better uses of her energy than turning her sister out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right!! That was it!! A couple things:  
1) Thanks so much to Gabriela, my lovely beta, who went through a few edits of this to make it perfect you guys:)  
2) I've hit over 7k views, 500 Kudos, 130 comments, 90 subscriptions--THANK YOU ALL!! Comments especially:)  
3) I've noticed that AO3 has these weird instances of glitchy typing? Like at the beginning of a line, there'll be a space between the first letter of a word and the rest of the word, and things like that. And sometimes a chapter will have lines indented, and sometimes it won't. I know those would really irritate me while reading and I'm sorry you have to put up with that; they don't appear while I'm uploading the chapters so I'm not sure how to fix it.  
4) I'm dying to know what you think!! If I handled it well, if it was realistic, if you liked it...all your thoughts!! (I'm for real going crazy ahhhhhh!!!)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my darlings. Yes, it's really here, a chapter in a reasonable amount of time after the last one. Crazy. I've had a wildly productive day today, including finishing this chapter, submitting an assignment, and making macarons. I don't know where this came from, but I'm not complaining.  
I want to thank you all so much for your kind responses to last chapter. I really did work so hard on it and seeing how much you all enjoyed it meant the world. I especially appreciate everyone who said it felt realistic to them--thank you all so much. And thanks so much to Gabriela, my lovely beta, who helped me perfect it. And thanks for this chapter, too!  
Enjoy!

December 20 - Year of

Nesta hadn't realized Emerie's shop was closing for Solstice, and apparently, Emerie hadn't realized Nesta wasn't celebrating.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, eyebrows raised, as Nesta entered.

"Working."

"The Commander left last night."

"So? I'm not his keeper."

"You don't...you're not going for Solstice?" Emerie frowned, like she couldn't understand.

Nesta shrugged. "I did not grow up with this holiday. I don't care about it."

"But it's fun," Emerie said, bewildered.

Nesta rolled her eyes as she began rehanging coats. She certainly did not classify an hours-long sit-down meal with her sister's in-laws as _fun_. Last Solstice, in fact, was a contender for Least Fun Night of Her Life.

"Your sisters probably bought you presents," Emerie said, pestering, which was quite unlike her. It was this obsession with Solstice, this worshipping. Apparently, her employer was infected with it as well. "Don't you like presents?"

"I prefer to buy things myself," Nesta said. She never did get the point of surprises. If you chose something yourself you couldn't possibly be disappointed, which she told Emerie.

"You can ask for something."

"Why do you have to wait for Solstice, then?" Nesta said. "If you want something, just buy it. If you have money. And if you don't, you can't celebrate anyway."

"Solstice isn't just about gifts."

"I don't worship your gods," Nesta said carelessly, making her way behind the front desk. She rifled through some of the papers she had on file—they ought to start thinking about spring wear, if they wanted to stay ahead of everyone else. "We should order lighter wear in January. Start putting things on the racks in February. Judging by how much we've sold this month—"

"I'm not very devout," interrupted Emerie.

Nesta looked up from the papers. Emerie's dark eyes were unblinking, her brown face schooled in a different expression from her usual indifference.

"All right," Nesta said.

"I don't go to any temple on Solstice."

"Fine," Nesta said. She didn't care. She had never been to a temple in her life.

"I still celebrate."

"Fine," Nesta said again. "I think we should order lighterwear in January."

"You should come to mine for dinner tomorrow evening," Emerie said.

Nesta narrowed her eyes.

"I was just going to go to the bonfires," she said. "But we could have a proper dinner."

"You're not spending it with your mother?"

"No...I eat breakfast with her."

Eugh. Breakfast with the whole family. Nesta cannot imagine any day deemed worthy of waking up early and then immediately being barraged by people.

"Fine," she said. "Will you look at this? My predictions for February..."

Emerie wasn't religious, as she said. This wasn't a dinner of worship. Or insufferable so-called family—Emerie never pretended to be Nesta's adoptive sister. Just...someone whom she got along with.

That was fine. This wasn't...instead of something else. It was just dinner. She'd had dinner with Emerie before. Before...before she'd started having it with Cassian every night.

This was fine.

* * *

December 15 - 1 year after

Their beautiful new archivist walked like a queen: back straight, chin set, stormy grey eyes surveying all that she saw as if considering everything in her path. All that went away when she picked up a book to read, melting like sugarberry ice in the summer, and it was Zeyn's favorite way to see her.

Her posture changed. Nesta always stood like she had a broom tied to her spine—did it not hurt, he wondered, to be like that all the time?—and when she found herself a quiet corner of Sugar Books, she folded into herself, unaware of her surroundings. Sometimes she would even mindlessly tug on a lock of her hair, tug it right out of the precise braid, and it would curl downwards, playing on her lashes—

"You're staring at her again," Maz snickered.

Zeyn snapped his head back to the book he was supposed to be working on. "I am not."

"Hush, Maz," Leyla said. "He's in love. It's sweet."

"It's _creepy_."

"I am _not _in love with her. And keep your voice down," he added, lowering his own dramatically. He risked a glance towards Nesta. Whether she was ignoring them or truly couldn't hear, he could not tell.

He wasn't in love with her. He had only just met her. But how could he not stare? She was so perfectly beautiful. Like she hadn't been born, like she'd been expertly made, sculpted by gods.

"You only think she's beautiful because she's High Fae," Maz said, sounding a bit sour.

"That's ridiculous," Leyla said, cutting in before Zeyn could himself. "Nesta _is_ beautiful. But don't worry, Maz, we think you are, too." She winked as she picked up her crate of books and left.

Maz's eyes followed her out of the room.

"I'm sure she meant it," Zeyn teased.

"Oh, shut up. Go back to staring at Nesta."

"I wasn't staring."

"Were so..."

There was no point in arguing. It sounded pathetic, and it felt it, too. But it didn't need to be that way, right?

"Oh, great, there he goes," Maz muttered under his breath as Zeyn stood. "Off to swoop in on the scary pregnant lady."

Zeyn sincerely hoped she hadn't heard _that_. Nesta didn't appear to like to talk about her pregnancy much. She didn't like to talk to anyone about anything much. She was private to the point of secrecy.

"Good book?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

"It's all right," she replied, not looking up.

"Never did read any human-authored stuff much," he said. What was that flicker in her eye? "Maybe you could recommend some to me."

"That's my job."

He laughed. She didn't.

He cleared his throat. "So," he said, trying to find something else to talk about. "Are you excited for Solstice?"

_That_ got her to look up. "You have Solstice here?"

He laughed. "Of course we do."

"No, I mean...the holiday?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't we?"

Nesta looked back down. She closed her book, though. "They don't have it everywhere. In the Summer Court," she added. "They...only celebrate the one in the summer."

"Oh," Zeyn said. "Well...we like to celebrate whatever we can in Sugar Valley." He grinned. "I suppose you've already seen the list of Solstice festivities." Erest, the town councilhead, had been proud to announce it at last week's town meeting. He had hung it on the notice board at the inn, and she was still staying there—although not for much longer, he thought, as Adil definitely had some sort of plans to find her somewhere else.

"I have not," she said.

"Oh. Are you...going back for Solstice? To Prythian?" Perhaps, because she had not realized it was a holiday here as well, she had made plans to leave.

"No. I'm...I don't have anything planned." Something was sitting on the tip of her tongue, behind her red lips, pursed shut. But she didn't let it out.

"Well, you should come to one of the town's celebrations!" An idea clicked into his mind. "I mean, you'll have to come to ours, right?"

"Ours?"

"The Sugar Books celebration. We have a staff party. Solstice Eve."

No one did anything on the day before Solstice, did they? So when he announced to them that they all had to come and pretend like it wasn't only for Nesta, they wouldn't—well, Maz wouldn't be too cross. He doubted the rest of them would mind. Miri would probably even help him plan it.

"Oh. I didn't realize you were...so close."

"We are!" Well, they got along. For the most part. That was enough. "It'll be a lot of fun. You'll come?"

Nesta's eyes darted around the room. She smoothed her hands over her skirts—always a shade of grey, always modest. But not so form-hiding that he hadn't noticed the slight changes in her body over the past month or so. Early pregnancy flattered Nesta. "Sure," she said.

Zeyn bit back his broad grin, not wanting to scare her off. He couldn't stop the excited twitch of his ears, though.

* * *

December 21 - year of

This Solstice, Emerie thought, was shaping up to be even less festive than last, which was saying something, because only a few short months before that one, various males in her family had died on the front lines in the war against Hybern.

She had shared a quiet breakfast with her mother, who hadn't spoken too much. Mostly just shot her wary glances. Probably because of the demonic scent all over her.

And now she was preparing dinner to share with that demon.

She didn't blame her mother. Nesta's scent was sweet in the same warding way of venom. Any living being innately knew to stay away from it. And Nesta didn't exactly have a winning personality that encouraged otherwise.

But she did good things for her shop. Emerie liked her for that enough.

Nesta Archeron wasn't a bad person. She didn't deserve to have Solstice alone, even if she didn't celebrate it.

The hair on Emerie's neck prickled when she heard her short raps on the door, but she ignored them. She wasn't scared of her Other employee.

Emerie didn't have much finery, but she did make an effort on Solstice. She wore shoes that were prettier than they were sensible and her hemlines sparkled. A glittering pin kept her braid at the side of her head—her usual hairstyle, but the ornament was only ever worn a few times a year.

Nesta made no such changes to her wardrobe, but she didn't need to. She wore her hair in crown-like knots and braids every day and no matter how drab the grey she wore in her dresses, nothing could dull her beauty.

She had even, Emerie noted, filled out a bit in the weeks she had been here. Her frame, once pitifully thin, had sparked gossip when she had first arrived at camp. Emerie remembered hearing rumors about how the Commander did not feed the High Lady's terrifying sister...

"Happy Solstice," Emerie said.

Nesta grimaced.

Emerie turned so Nesta wouldn't see her roll her eyes. "Wine?" she said, looking over her shoulder.

Nesta's jaw clenched. Her eyes closed. "No," she gritted.

All right, then. Emerie thought perhaps it would be better if she didn't have any, either. She put the bottle down and said, "Don't suppose you saw any of the shows last night." Some of the males put them on—flips and tricks, flying through the air.

"No."

"Neither did I," she said, and she couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. That was another thing she liked about Nesta Archeron. She genuinely did not care about anything Emerie's people did. She hadn't liked it at first, but now, seeing her disdain for some of the most respected people in the camps, the absolute apathy she had for the cruel ones who mocked females like her on what was supposed to be a sacred day...

Well. She supposed she had a few reasons to be glad Nesta had decided to enter her shop the day she wandered around their camp alone.

* * *

December 18 - 4 years after

It takes an enormous amount of power to winnow all the way across the sea, so on the agreed-upon date, Feyre is to fly to Sugar Valley. Along with her husband.

Things have been much better with her sister over the past month—both of her sisters, actually. Feyre has visited a few times, and Elain came to stay for a whole week. The children had loved that, as Cassian had also managed to spend a few days then.

But she has still not seen Rhysand since that day in September five years ago.

She assumes they—Rhysand and Morrigan—will summon the strength they need to mind themselves in her presence. She doesn't ask for much. Only quiet.

Nicky bounces with excitement all morning, rattling off to Ollie a list of all the things they're going to do "across the sea", courtesy of the stories his aunts and father have spent the past few weeks filling his head with. Avery keeps tapping Nesta's legs and asking when they're going to leave.

Nesta lets them amuse themselves, for the most part, as she double—and triple-checks their bags. Presents for the children that she was instructed to take and keep as surprise until Solstice evening by various townsfolk (some for her as well), clothes, medication for Ollie's lungs—he hasn't needed it in a while, but it never hurt to have it along—some favorite toys, books, the purple cup Avery needs, jars of jam...

All of this, of course, to keep herself busy. Until half past ten, when she hears the knock on her door.

Steeling herself is not particularly easy to do with her children's cries of "_I _want to open the door!" chorusing around her, but she manages.

Nicky gets there first. He lifts his chubby hand high above his head to reach the doorknob and throws himself at Feyre when he sees her.

"Hey!" she says, laughing as she catches him. "Oh, hello to you, too, Ava!" For Ava has also launched herself at her aunt.

Ollie stays safely behind her legs. He had been excited to see Feyre, but Rhysand, standing behind her, throws him off. He looks up at her, and she smiles down at him reassuringly.

"This is your uncle, Rhys!"

Nesta cannot stop her lip from curling upward. She might deny the relation on her side, but Cassian obviously has not on his.

"Hello," he says, smiling along with Feyre. "Nicky, and Ava...hello, Nesta. You're looking well."

"Hmm."

"And you must be Ollie," Rhys says, bending to his knee, to meet him at eye-level. "Hi. I'm Rhys."

Ollie looks up at Nesta again.

"It's all right," she says to him quietly. "But you can stay with me."

Nesta pulls Avery and Nicky into a hug and tells them she'll see them soon. Rhys holds onto two of their bags and then swoops the pair of them into his arms. With a nod at Nesta, he disappears.

"Ready, Ollie?" Feyre asks him, picking him up and holding him close to her chest.

He nods against her and leans on her shoulder. Nesta grabs the other bags and links her arm in her sister's.

"Let's go."

And they do.

It is, as usual, a most disorienting experience, and Nesta loses her sense of self for a few moments, but Avery's laughing voice brings her back.

She sees Cassian first, holding Ava and Nicky. Ollie squirms out of Feyre's arms to run to him, too.

She feels an arm on her shoulder. "Are you all right, Nesta?"

"Fine," she says to Feyre.

They're in her home, the third one, on the banks of the Sidra. One of the living rooms. Nesta recognizes the stained glass windows, the midnight blues—and, of course, the painted pictures of everyone. Herself excluded, obviously.

She remembers when Feyre had shown her the house. She hadn't mentioned the original Archeron decor, but she hadn't needed to. It had been impossible not to notice, and it still is. Had she expected her to say anything? To ask why?

Perhaps it had bothered her then, but it doesn't now. Nesta has her own house. Contrary to what her sister believes, not everyone you know by blood or happenstance needs to hold an intimate place in your heart, a spot of honor on your walls.

"Nesta? Are you sure you're all right?"

Nesta looks up at Cassian. His smile from seeing the triplets has dimmed. "I'm fine." She clears her throat. "Where can I put our things?"

"Oh, well, actually...we'll take a carriage."

She could swear Cassian bites his lip—in nervousness?

"All right," she says, giving a little shrug. The townhouse doesn't include much better memories than this place, but she guesses it'll be better. At least they'll have their own place, at least she won't have to be around all of them for the whole time. "Let's go."

Feyre and Rhysand help them bring their things down where the carriage is waiting for them.

"We're _all _the way across the sea, Mummy!" Nicky exclaims, rushing to clasp her hand in his.

"We are, angel."

"And we're...we came the whole way!"

"The whole way."

"For Solstice!"

"Mm-hm," Nesta says, keeping an eye on Avery pulling Ollie along.

"Where are we going now?"

"We're going to take a short ride," she says, lifting him up into the carriage. "Now you Avery—yes, sit tight. We're going to take a short ride to where we'll be staying."

"Where are we staying?"

"With our aunts?"

"No, we'll—"

"Actually," Cassian cuts in, placing Ollie in, "we're going to my house."

Nesta gives him a sharp glance, but he doesn't meet her eye as he helps her in.

"I didn't know you bought a house here," she says, low so the children can't hear her.

"Yeah, I...I mean, do you want to stay at the townhouse? That's empty now."

"No, no, I'm sure yours is fine. I mean. Is it—have you—?"

"Yeah, yeah, I've got beds for them...and you...and there's...I think you'll like it. Close to a park."

No matter how low they talk, all three of them pick up on that.

"We're going to play in the park?"

"Are our aunts coming too?"

"All right," Nesta says, a bit loudly, over them all. "We're going to go to Appa's house first and eat lunch and get settled and then we'll go to the park."

She hides a smile at their answering cheers.

"Where is it?" she asks Cassian.

"Near the Rainbow."

She doesn't particularly like the hustle and bustle of Velaris' city center. Too many people, too loud. Sugar Valley residents can be plenty loud, sure, and all the forgotten gods know that town meetings can be ridiculously stifling, but there are not so many people that Nesta does not know them all by face if not by name.

But she sees the house—Cassian's house—is not too close to the Rainbow. In fact, it's closer to the Sidra. A nice bank, shallow waters. There are some families with small children playing there.

It's styled like most of the houses in Velaris—in fact, it looks a bit similar to the townhouse. She likes the novelty of her blue-boarded house in Sugar Valley, but the maple brown of this one is nice, too.

"Here we are," Cassian says, getting out first, to help them all down. He takes the bags in one hand and Ollie in his other. "Let's go."

The sparsely-decorated inside reminds her a bit of his home in Illyria, but perhaps with a bit more child-proofing done. There are no sharp edges in his living room; the chairs and tables are all rounded, so she doesn't stop the children from rushing off to explore the rooms on the top floor.

"Wow," Nesta says, looking around.

"Do you like it?"

She peers in through a doorway. "You have a proper dining room." She's not jealous. She loves her home. Just...she wishes she had one. It might be nice, one day, when the children are older.

"I haven't got much for it yet."

"I can see that." Beige appears to be the predominant color, which is...interesting. "Why...were you waiting for my sister's Solstice gifts? To match the decor to?" Feyre gives them all paintings every year—or at least, she used to.

Cassian laughs. "No, I was hoping...well, I don't know. I've never decorated a house before."

"You realize how insane that is?" she asks him. "You're nearly six hundred years old."

"I'm not _nearly_ six-hundred years old..." he trails off. They've had this conversation countless times—teasing, gentle, mostly. And then one time, very much not.

"So," he says, clearing his throat. "This is the ground floor. Living room...dining room...kitchen...do you like the cabinets?"

He must be more anxious than she thought. "They're great."

"Do you want to see the upstairs?"

"Sure."

There are four bedrooms. "These two are smaller, so...oh, there you all are!" For the children have made their place in the room clearly meant to be theirs, with little beds corresponding with the colors of the ones in their home in Sugar Valley. "Right. Here's...the master..." He dumps their bags unceremoniously on the floor.

"Nice view," Nesta says, looking out onto the park. She can see the Night Court's mountains in the distance.

"You can stay here," he says. "You know, while you're here."

Nesta turns to face him, blinking. "What?"

"If you want."

"It's your room. It's your house."

"I can sleep in one of the smaller rooms."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I—please, just take it."

She blinks again. "All right." If he wants her to...

"Mummy!" Avery calls as she runs in. "Mummy, can we have lunch and go play?"

"Yes, ah—you have...do you have food?"

"Yeah, I've gone out and I've got the kitchen stocked...I'll get started, why don't you...settle in?" He leaves her with a parting smile, Avery trailing after him.

_Get settled_, she thinks. She's not quite sure what that entails, but she decides it includes a few minutes to herself before the overwhelming onslaught of Velaris crashes over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, that was chapter fifteen! I hope y'all enjoyed and are keeping safe during quarantine.  
I was scrolling through this fic while writing this chapter while I was looking for something, and I saw my notes on the second chapter. I wrote about how blown away I was by all your support. That hasn't gone away; I still cannot believe how many of you read this. And some of you even more than once! Every so often I feel like my dreams of being a novelist are too wild to come true but then I get a comment or a kudos and I feel like I'm kind of on my way?? So thanks so much. Really.  
Come gush about how flattering pregnancy is on Nesta on my tumblr @ladynestaarcheron. Love you all!! <3<3<3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I normally have a lot to say, but I don't this time! So thanks to Gabriela, my beta, and you, my lovely readers, and that's it! Enjoy!

December 18 - 4 years after

The park tires them out completely, so Nesta and Cassian lay the children down for a nap before dinner.

"It's a new restaurant," Cassian tells Nesta. "Very up-and-coming. But we have a private room for us."

"Who's us?"

"Your sisters. And us."

"All right." Nesta doesn't ask about the others she still hasn't seen. Azriel, Morrigan...Amren.

Cassian takes a deep breath. "There's something you should know. About who's coming to Solstice."

Nesta freezes. She already knows who's coming—all of Feyre's new friends (although she supposes they're not so new anymore)—her husband, obviously, Morrigan, Azriel, Amren. Amren's...paramour. If they're still together.

"It's Emerie."

Nesta jerks backward. _Emerie? _"Em...from...why is she coming?"

Her employer, her...friend. Sort of. Nesta had not been in the right mindset to properly have a friend; she did not treat Emerie the way she treats Amorette, but she might have gotten there. If she had not left.

"She's actually...well, this isn't her first Solstice with us. She's not really spending it with us, honestly. She's spending it with...Mor."

She blinks. With _Mor_?

"They're together. They have been for a few years now, actually."

Nesta could not have been more shocked if he had told her he was going to leave to move in with Maz. Two of her worlds colliding in such a bizarre way, such an unexpected match. It all dawns on her slowly: if Emerie is with Morrigan, and she has come here, to Velaris, for Solstice with all of them, then she knows Feyre. She knows Elain. Had they spoken of her?

And what is Emerie doing with someone like Morrigan, anyway?

She doesn't voice any of this to Cassian. "All right."

He studies her carefully. She can feel his eyes tracing every minute movement. "Are you upset?"

"No," she answers—truthfully, because she's not. She's baffled. And disappointed in Emerie's taste.

She supposes she doesn't have any right to be upset. She can't exactly see this as a betrayal, for Emerie did nothing to deserve Nesta leaving and following silence. And, well, she never exactly spoke of the quiet, violent mutual loathing she and Morrigan shared. Not with Emerie, at least.

But still, Emerie can do better.

She keeps this to herself, though. Cassian loves Morrigan, she knows this.

"What exactly is the itinerary?"

"Well, I thought we could just show the children Velaris," Cassian says, "with your sisters, maybe. And then Solstice at Feyre and Rhys'. Was there...something in particular you wanted to do?"

Does she want to see someone outside the mandatory Solstice she signed up for, he means. And the answer is no, most certainly not. Or, well, it was, before she knew Emerie was going to be here. But perhaps Emerie doesn't want to see her. So she just says, "No, that sounds all right," and tries to find something to busy herself with until it's time to go to dinner.

When they finally do go, Cassian holding Avery and Nesta holding Ollie and Nicky walking between them, Nesta can see that the place is indeed popular. It's in an area of Velaris she doesn't know very well—not close to any of the establishments she frequented while living here years ago—but there's a rather large crowd of people waiting outside. Reservations are probably booked more than just a few days in advance.

A perky red-haired female at the front leads them to a private room, where Feyre and Elain are already waiting. Elain leaps up when she sees them and throws open her arms for Nicky to run into.

"I missed you!" she says, laughing, and pulling Avery and Ollie in for a hug too. "Hi, Nesta, I missed you too!"

"You as well," she says, a bit curtly, even to her own ears. But she kisses Elain on both her cheeks and gives her a small smile as she sits down.

"This place is really amazing," Elain tells them.

"It...looks nice," Nesta says, gazing around. It does look nice, but all restaurants do. None of the stained glass lampshades warrant waiting outside to be seated, in her opinion.

"I've never been to a restaurant before," Nicky says, excited.

"Nicky, don't be ridiculous, of course you have."

"Not all the way across the sea!"

Nesta catches Cassian's eye and stifles an eye-roll as he grins.

"He's right," he says.

"Quite."

"Are you three excited for Solstice?" Feyre asks the children.

"Yeah, we're _so _excited."

"Our friends are not here," Nicky says.

"Oh, I know, but we're here! That'll be fun, right?"

"Right!"

"Are you excited for Solstice presents, Ollie?" Elain asks him.

He blushes and nods, looking down at his lap.

"Ollie wants a caterpillar," Avery informs Elain.

"A caterpillar? Well, I guess we'll have to wait and see what we all get."

Nesta bites on the inside of her cheek. In a rather unprecedented move on her part, before leaving Sugar Valley, she had purchased gifts for her sisters and Cassian as well. She had spent probably a month discussing her thoughts with Amorette on the matter (that is, blathering on while Amorette offered her sympathetic support), came to the firm decision that she was not buying any gifts, and then suddenly rushed out the day before they left to buy things. She still isn't sure what came over her.

"So, I thought tomorrow we could go see my gallery," Feyre says. "You three like to paint, don't you?"

They chatter in excitement, eager to see all the things their aunts and father are promising them. Nesta loves to see them like this, bubbling over in happy anticipation. But she swallows hard as she watches them—they are so good at this, Cassian, Elain, and Feyre. It comes so naturally to them; joy and cheer and infectious laughter. And she has to work so hard at it.

Jealousy writhes inside her, like nothing she's ever felt before. Disconcerting, to say the least—but this was never her holiday season.

* * *

December 27 - Year of

The heavy snow that winter always brought into their tiny village was nothing compared to the blizzard that hit the Illyrian mountains; and Emerie assured Nesta that it happened every year. Nesta was sure that this meant Cassian would not be coming back any time soon—how could he fly in this?—but she saw the legions take to the skies day after day, and eventually, it was Cassian soaring down. She hurried away from the window and threw herself into her favorite spot on the couch, opening her book to a random page and pretending to read.

She felt him approach the door, felt his hand linger for a moment too long on the knob before opening it.

"Hey," he said, stepping inside. "I'm back," he added.

Nesta did not lower her book, but raised her eyes to look at him. There was snow stuck in some crevices of his wings, ice in his hair.

He grinned when he saw her eyes tracing him. "Still reading that?" He nodded towards her book.

"Re-reading," she lied. "It was good. And I'm out."

His grin widened as he crossed over to the fireplace. "Is that so?"

She didn't answer, only tensed as she saw he was going to light a fire, and braced herself for the snapping sound, like the cracking of a neck, her father's neck.

"Don't know how you stand sitting here without it," he said, more to himself than to her. "Well, anyway," he continued, turning around, "I guess I made a—what's wrong?"

Nesta jerked her head downwards to the book, forcing herself to concentrate on counting the letters on the page. "Nothing."

"Is it..." He didn't finish his sentence. She knew what he was thinking. He had only just come back; how was she already distant?

She couldn't bring herself to say anything. He wanted the fire burning, of course he did, he was freezing. It was normal. _This_, this fear of the mundane, was not. She had conquered her—it still mortified her, even to think it—_aversion_ to baths, but there was no way to ease into hearing something. You either lit a fire or you did not. Striking a sole match did not make noise. The bonfires Emerie had dragged her hadn't been much help, either, for they had not gone close enough to hear anything over the noise the hundreds of Illyrians had been making.

She was up to thirty-seven when Cassian put out the fire.

"You're hogging all the blankets," he said. "Give me one."

Wordlessly, she pushed one off her, letting him take it as he sat next to her. She couldn't meet his eyes—how had he known?

"So, I guess I made a good choice. With your Solstice present. If you're rereading this garbage."

Now Nesta did look up, to see him smirking at her.

"This isn't garbage," she said, closing the book. A present...she didn't think he was going to get her anything. Especially since she hadn't exactly accepted his present last year.

She hadn't gotten him anything. The thought hadn't even occurred to her, really. What would she even get him?

"It's in the bag," he said pointing to something he had dumped by the front door.

Definitely not what he had gotten her last year, then. A much bigger bag than anything he had had on his person last year.

Nesta wrapped one of the blankets around her as she went to see what it was. She slipped out a box, wrapped in deep blue paper, and brought it back to the couch.

It felt rather heavy. She figured it was books.

"Open it," he encouraged.

She did, careful with the wrapping. A brown box, with the words _NightWrite_ printed in swirly lettering. She looked up at him.

"Open it!"

She did. There was indeed a book inside, but that wasn't all. There was a candle, coffee scented, a set of rather fine pens, a beautiful, leatherbound notebook, a bar of what she knew was some of the Night Court's finest chocolate, some little flowers she thought might be soap, and a few other small things. There was a card, too.

"A subscription?"

"For the female who reads. Well, that's their slogan, anyway."

A book each month, she read. And different things along with it.

"You can choose the books in the next months. But I chose the first one. I think you'll like it. It's children's stories...I knew some of them, growing up."

It was...incredibly, surprisingly thoughtful, first of all. The kind of thing she would never think to buy herself, because she wasn't aware anything like this existed. And it would come every month. Which...while she was here...meant a lot. Every month, a new book, just for her. Along with all this other...stuff. Stuff she liked.

She looked up at him. "Thank you."

He pulled back—was he surprised? But he moved closer to her, after a moment. "You're welcome."

They didn't say anything else for a short while, but then Cassian told her he was going to take a shower, and she said she would get started on dinner, and they both turned to their respective new tasks.

But her eyes kept wandering in the direction of his bedroom, and she knew he was staring towards the kitchen.

* * *

December 20 - 4 years after

While her fellow townspeople in Sugar Valley are probably wreathing sugarberry crowns around their heads, Nesta is cleaning Cassian's kitchen. He's spent the past few days referring to it as their home, but that doesn't sit quite right with her. The location is wonderful; close to the shallower areas of the Sidra, all the necessities, and a park. But it's still in Velaris, and this isn't Nesta's home.

Tonight is the first time Nesta has had some proper time to herself since she's gotten here. Cassian has not left her side until a few hours ago, when some unexpected work came off and he had to leave before dinner.

It's not exactly uncomfortable, this never ending domesticity, it's just odd. Having him at her side all waking hours of the day. Not even Illyria had been like that.

The shift into it had been strange, and now the lack of anyone around her, the complete silence, is rather jarring, so Nesta doesn't even pause to wonder who is at the door when she hears the knock; just goes to open it.

And there she is: ink black hair braided over her shoulder, brown, wide set eyes unblinking, smooth brown skin seemingly unaffected by the cold—no trace of red in her cheeks, no raised hairs. But there is a slight quiver in her scarred wings that gives her away.

Emerie.

The pair don't say anything for...Nesta doesn't even know how long. But Emerie recovers first, and she says, "Can I come in?"

And Nesta, opening the door wider, says, "Of course," like this is a normal calling, like she's been expecting her.

The Gilameyvan hospitality Aysel, Miri, and Zeyn have carefully taught her escapes her now. She offers no tea, doesn't take her coat...Amorette would be disappointed. She likes to think Nesta's made progress.

"So," Emerie says finally. "You had children."

Who had told her, Nesta wonders. Was it Morrigan? "Yes. Three."

Emerie nods, looking around the living room, where they both stand. There's a bit more to look at than there was when Nesta arrived a few days ago—the children had picked out a painting from Feyre's gallery to hang on the wall—but not nearly enough to warrant the heavy silence.

Nesta doesn't like to talk about what doesn't concern her, so she doesn't ask about Morrigan. She doesn't need to, though, because after another minute of quiet, Emerie says, "I'm with Mor now."

"I heard," she says.

"I think you might like her, actually."

Nesta bites her tongue. Emerie notices.

"I meant if you two knew each other. Really. I know you both," she adds. Then she frowns a little.

"Emerie..."

Where to begin? Nesta's got no shortage of mistakes in her repertoire, but before her stands the result of one she is particularly sorry for. Emerie did nothing wrong.

There's a bluntness that must run in the veins of the Night Court people, because when Emerie says, "Why did you leave?" her voice is not accusing, but low and flat and hollow.

"Sit down," Nesta says, finding a spot on the couch herself.

Emerie sits, folding her skirts in as she does so. Nesta's lips tug upwards slightly. Despite being with Morrigan, Queen of the Dream Court, Emerie is still bedecked in her Illyrian simplicity. Does it drive her spare, what with her inclination towards those strips of crimson silk she calls dresses? Or does she like it, seeing Emerie as some kind of peasant fantasy?

Emerie doesn't repeat herself, but she sees the question etched in her face.

She's not cut out for these sort of conversations. She doesn't speak her mind, doesn't directly address any issues on the table. So if Emerie had done this to her, she would've just ignored it—perhaps pretended like it never happened and acted distant, perhaps never spoken to her again. But she's in the wrong here, and Emerie deserves what she wants: an explanation.

So Nesta steels herself, takes a deep breath, and tries to summon what Cassian had once seen in her. "I know I hurt you, but my leaving had nothing to do with you. I'm sorry." Then she holds her breath.

Emerie's eyes wander around the room. "Oh," she says finally.

_Oh?_ Is that it? Emerie's not one for passionate displays of emotion—one of Nesta's favorite things about her—but she'd expected more of a dramatic response.

"So why did you leave, then?" she asks again.

Nesta blinks. "I couldn't stay. I thought...I deserved more."

Emerie is quiet again. "So why didn't you say anything to me?"

"I thought you'd talk me out of it."

"Well, you should've known better than that." There's not any sympathy or sharpness in her words. They're just there, black on white, clear as day, honest.

Nesta flinches. She's right. Emerie has only ever told her to do the smart, right thing for herself. By way of poorly formed metaphors about her own regrets, maybe, but nonetheless. "I'm sorry."

"I should go," Emerie says, standing.

Nesta stands too. "I'll walk you out."

Every step is painfully awkward and also just painful. She never meant to hurt Emerie, but she's not sure how much that's worth.

Emerie stops abruptly at the front door. "I'll meet them tomorrow?" she asks.

"Meet whom?"

"Your children."

"Oh," Nesta says. "Yes. Well. If you'll be there for dinner."

"I will."

"Then...yes."

"All right," Emerie says, then leaves. She doesn't look back, but Nesta can't stop staring at her.

When she finally does manage to tear herself away from the front windows, long after Emerie has disappeared from sight, Nesta drags herself to bed, glass of wine in hand. She knew a trip to Velaris and all it brings might trigger some...old habits of hers, so she makes sure to leave the bottle downstairs in the kitchen and sip slowly.

She hears Cassian come in a half an hour later. He finds her in her room, staring unblinking out onto the dark waters of the Sidra.

"Nesta?" he asks.

"Oh, hello," she says, not moving her eyes.

He walks over and sits on the bed, blocking her view. "Are you all right?"

She focuses on his face. His eyebrows are pulled together, his lips pressed. "What's wrong?"

She drains what's left in her glass and sets it down on the nightstand, then lays herself down on the bed. Tucking a hand underneath her head, she pulls her hair from its ties and braids and sprawls it out.

He lies down next to her maneuvering his wings so they aren't touching her. "Emerie came?"

She doesn't answer.

"What did she say?"

Nesta waits a few seconds before saying, "She asked why."

"Oh."

He shares in the quiet with her. Minutes go by, and he doesn't say anything, only waits. She doesn't know if he means it as an offering of partnership, but she takes it as such.

"I don't have a good answer for her," she whispers.

"That's all right," he tells her, matching her pitch. "She's fine. She missed you but she's fine."

"It was wrong."

"That's all right too."

If Emerie forgives her, does she have to forgive everyone else? If that's true, then does she want Emerie to forgive her? Of course she does—the only other option is that Emerie is angry with her, or that she doesn't matter to her anymore. Which is worse, she wonders, causing someone pain, proving your importance to them, or having them move on? She doesn't trust herself to come up with an answer. What if she's too sel—

Cassian puts his hand on hers. "Stop thinking so loudly." His tone is teasing but Nesta knows he's serious.

She moves her eyes from the ceiling to his face, tilting her head a little.

"You're back now," he says quietly.

Nesta looks back at the ceiling.

"Emerie loves you more than you hurt her. It's true," he adds, sensing her doubt. He squeezes her hand.

She holds her breath. Is he going to say what she suspects? She doesn't know if she wants him too.

But Cassian only rubs his thumb on hers. "You've said your piece. All you can do is wait for her to make her choice."

"I'm not very good at saying my piece." She's never been good at talking on the spot. She doesn't have the natural charisma Cassian or Feyre have, none of Elain's likability. She's too prickly and stiff.

"Some of us like you anyway."

That makes her laugh a little. "Thanks."

"Let go of your thoughts," he says. "Focus on your breathing and mine."

She listens to him, and at first, it takes up most of her concentration, and then it all fades away. Before she slips under, the only thing she's aware of his hand on hers and the shadow of his wings over them both.

* * *

December 20 - 1 year after

Sugar Valley was all closed for the holiday, but everyone was still outside, wandering the town, shouting festive-themed pleasantries instead of the usual "come round for jam!"s that Nesta normally heard. Snow fell to the ground, but not so much as Illyria had had last year. Little enough that she could walk around outside.

She hadn't expected to actually go to this silly party that Zeyn had told her about, but he and Miri and even Leyla, one of the other archivists, had spoken to her about it at length and prodded her again and again to come.

So she did, opting for a dress in a pale lilac instead of her usual grey, in an attempt to be festive. She was never one for bright colors, but before it all, she did wear more than just charcoal and the occasional blue.

Leyla seemed to like the dress, as she complimented her on it as soon as Nesta entered the store, shrugging off her cloak.

"Where did you get it?" she asked, beaming at her.

"Maternity aisle at Classia's," Nesta answered, referring to a small boutique in town. The female who ran it was from Prythian, which had made Nesta tense before stepping inside. But she hadn't seemed to recognise her, or at least, she hadn't said anything if she did.

"I love maternity clothes," Leyla gushed.

Perhaps she was trying to be nice, but Nesta just didn't know what to reply to that. But Zeyn came in from the back room just then and lit up when he saw her.

"You came!"

"Yes," she said. They all said odd things here, didn't they?

"Have some of the _isti_," Zeyn said, waving her towards the table. _Isti _was what they called that delicious berry-chocolate drink he had given her before.

The store was handsomely decorated, with sugarberries strung up along the shelves and tiny twinkling faelights dotted here and there. Her dress, as it turned out, was not as festive as she thought, because everyone here was dressed in deep burgundy; the same color as their patron fruit. Oh, well. Shades of purple, all the same.

"Nesta," Miri greeted her from behind. "Here, take a wreath." And she placed something atop her head.

Nesta took it off to look at it. "What does Solstice have to do with sugarberries?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Every solstice and equinox is a chance to celebrate our home," Miri said.

"Do they bloom year-round?"

"They do here."

Sugarberries looked very much like the stuff that had grown on trees by their shabby little cottage under the Wall. Nesta remembered Feyre eying them one winter, and Elain informing her not to bother, that they were poisonous.

Perhaps the magic kept them from being so. Or perhaps that which was harmful to humans was pleasant to faeries. Or maybe they were just a different fruit.

"How are you doing?"

"All right," Nesta answered automatically. She was most certainly not doing all right. Pregnancy was a nightmare. She was vaguely aware of passers-by eyes lingering on her for longer than strictly necessary, and, to be frank, she had seen her own reflection—she knew that the weight she had gained in her first trimester only rounded out her curves. But nothing about Nesta was lovely when she put herself to bed at night, feet blistering from simply standing, and waking up a few short hours later to violently vomit everything she had eaten the previous day.

Amorette Dadashov, her healer, assured her it was normal for a fae pregnancy. That might comfort Nesta later, when she wasn't starting and ending every day in pain.

"Have a seat," Miri said, pulling up a chair. "You look tired."

She was exhausted. Amorette had told her that was a normal part of pregnancy, too.

"Good of you to come," Miri said.

"It's very important to the shop, isn't it?"

"Yes," Miri said, after a short beat. "Sit here, dear. I'm going to drag Adil out."

She came back a few minutes later, a grumbling Adil in tow. "Don't see what the point is. We see each other every day. We'll see each other tomorrow at the town's parade."

"Hush," Miri said. "Sit with Nesta. String wreaths."

Nesta had not been to any real holiday parties, but this one still struck her as odd. Adil was right—they did see each other every day. It wasn't even the holiday yet, it was still the day before.

"Do you not like Solstice?"

Nesta looked up from her wreath. She wasn't very good at making them. She kept dropping the berries trying to string them. "You don't look like you're particularly enjoying yourself."

"I am," he said seriously. "Well, Miri is. That's the same."

Nesta averted her eyes. How did you look at someone when they spoke of another person like that?

Adil cleared his throat. "I think there might be something I have you should read."

"Oh...human-authored?"

"No, not a book. Well, it's not really mine. It's from the bank."

Nesta frowned. Her account was all in order, and it wasn't through her employer. "The bank?"

"I...spoke to Erest. Our councilhead?"

She'd met him. She'd been expecting someone like the High Lords, and he _was _irritating, but in a harmless way. Like everyone else she had met here. "All right," she said, wondering where this was going.

His brow furrowed, deep blue lips a thin line. "You're not registered as a citizen of Sugar Valley yet."

"I know," she said. Amorette had mentioned something about it to her in passing.

"Well, if you were...it'll be easier for you to buy a house here. Easier to sign up for nurseries, too."

_Nurseries? _All Nesta had decided was that she wasn't terminating the pregnancy.

"Well, I don't think I'm in the market for a house."

"There's a property in one of the younger neighborhoods," he said. "Spacious...enough. Nice yard. Close to the town's center. You should look. It never hurts to look."

"I...really don't think I can afford a house right now—"

"No. You'll be able to afford this one." He didn't look at her, just picked at his wreath. "You should look at it."

Had he struck some sort of deal with the councilhead? No one had ever attempted to give Nesta her own space before...

"I will."

He gave the slightest nod in answer. She didn't thank him, but she got the feeling she wasn't supposed to.

* * *

December 21 - 4 years after

Nesta's quiet, contented sleep is interrupted before the rising sun hits her through the window by an excited little voice rushing in along with small footsteps.

"Mummy, Mummy, it's Solstice morning, come—"

Nicky stops abruptly as both Nesta and Cassian sit up in bed. His eyes widen, and dart between both of them. He wrings his hands in front of him and sucks in his cheeks.

Nesta's face burns, splotchy redness surely covering her cheeks. "It's all right!" she says, trying to speak calmly and failing miserably. "It's all right! You can come here, Nicky!" She holds out her arms and waves him over.

Nicky, unsure of himself, walks towards her slowly. He stops every few steps and looks around. His cheeks redden slightly, too.

"Good morning," she says, pulling him closer and dropping a kiss on his forehead.

"Happy Solstice," Cassian adds.

Nicky looks up at her. She nods at him encouragingly. "Did you want something from Mummy, angel?"

"I was going to tell you that it's Solstice."

"It is, you're right."

"Are you hungry? Do you want breakfast? We can go get started while Mummy wakes up Ava and Ollie."

"Do you want to go make breakfast with Appa?" she asks him. He nods and she gives him another kiss. "All right, go on."

Without making eye contact with Cassian, she passes Nicky to him. She smooths her hair as they leave.

She'll have to talk to Nicky, of course. Tell him...what? She'll have to ask him what he thinks, first. To see if she needs to reassure him or answer his questions—oh, fuck, he'll tell his siblings, won't he? Of course he will. It's Nicky. He doesn't have a discreet bone in his body. Hopefully Cassian will have distracted him enough by the time she brings Avery and Ollie down.

What'll she say to Cassian? She's not angry he stayed; just mortified Nicky saw them. Is she mortified? She's not sure. She won't be able to tell what she's feeling until...well, it'll be a while until she gets to talk to Amorette, won't it? And that's how she normally decides her feelings on matters of this sort.

She thinks she's managed to pull herself together enough to rouse Avery and Ollie, but she must be mistaken, because Avery asks her what's wrong before moaning that she's still tired.

"Nothing, ladybug," she assures her. "Everything's fine. Come, let's brush our teeth...Appa and Nicky are making us breakfast..."

As she helps the children with the sink—there's no step stool in this house—she comes to the conclusion that she's furious with herself. She had to pick today to fall asleep in bed with Cassian? Today, before seeing the Feyre's Inner Circle for the first time in years? Amren and Morrigan and Rhysand and even Azriel...why has she done this to herself?

"You'll be smarter than Mummy, won't you, Avery?" she mumbles.

"What, Mummy?"

"Nothing, nothing..."

Thirty seconds after entering the kitchen, where Cassian is holding Nicky in one arm and preparing eggs over the stove in the other, it becomes clear to Nesta that avoiding talking about this is going to be difficult, because Cassian seems as determined to catch her eye and talk to her as she is against doing so.

"You all can stay here with Appa, can't you?" she says brightly. "Mummy's going to get dressed." And take a bath for much longer than necessary. Perhaps that'll help her clear her head.

* * *

January 18 - Year of

Cassian hadn't left since coming back from Velaris. Nesta didn't ask why the trips to other camps had been canceled, nervous about his answer. But while he was here, while he did not bring her letters from her sisters...she was...enjoying it.

Things at the clothier were doing better. Nesta's ordering strategy worked, and Emerie seemed pleased. She shared lunch with her every day, and went back home in the evenings to have dinner with Cassian.

Even the throbbing pain in her head had ceased. Occasionally, Nesta still wanted a drink, but it had been over five months since she last had one, and sometimes there were whole days where the thought didn't cross her mind even once.

When Cassian showed up to Emerie's shop one afternoon in mid-January, basket of sandwiches in hand, Nesta didn't make up an excuse to rush out like she had last time.

"Lunch break?" he asked them both.

Emerie looked at her sideways. A small smile tugged at Nesta's lips at the sight of her unease; for someone who had only ever seen Cassian as an untouchable, more mythic creature than real person, she imagined him walking into your place of work and offering you a picnic basket would be very odd indeed.

But Emerie might have been a bit more used to Nesta and all things that came for her, because she shrugged a little and said, "All right."

So there they sat, in the back room, which Nesta had once told Cassian was employees only. She hoped he didn't remember, but judging by his smirk he did. She rolled her eyes in response.

"How's business?" he asked.

Emerie glanced at Nesta with narrowed eyes before answering. "Good. How is..." Emerie trailed off. What could she say? How is the growing restlessness amongst the legions, the steadily rising number of rebels, the threats of civil war?

"Everything's fine," Cassian said.

"You've been here more often," Emerie noted.

"More for me to do here."

What that could possibly mean, Nesta had no idea. She saw him going over reports sometimes, but that was about it. And Cassian wasn't like her; he couldn't just sit at home and read a book. An afternoon walk was not enough to invigorate him, he needed something properly challenging.

"Although I'm going to be leaving soon," he continued. "Train a group of females."

"Who are they?" Nesta asked.

"Soldiers."

"I thought you didn't have female soldiers."

"We should," he said. "It doesn't make sense to cut out half our possible numbers automatically."

"Do they want to be soldiers?" Nesta asked, looking sideways at Emerie. Nesta would not want to be one—for anyone, but definitely not for an army who sliced their daughters' bodies like that.

"Of course they do," he said.

She frowned. "I don't think wanting to be a soldier is such an obvious desire."

"They're Illyrian," he said, pouring them juice from the jug he had brought.

"I don't want to be a soldier," Emerie spoke up.

Cassian's eyes slid towards her. "We don't force anyone. But females should be allowed, if they want. If they have something to give."

Emerie shrugged.

Nesta didn't love a land enough to be willing to risk being torn apart on a battlefield for. "Why are you so keen on females fighting in combat?" she asked. "Don't you think if they really wanted to, they would have found some way to do so by now?"

"It's not true that you don't force anyone," Emerie said softly.

Cassian flinched.

"It's not Cassian's fault your cousin died, Emerie," Nesta said, without missing a beat.

Cassian seemed to hold his breath, but that was unnecessary. Emerie and Nesta knew each other well enough by now to allow for such statements.

"I know that," she said. "I don't blame him."

Nesta thought Cassian might have some long-suffering response to that, like _You're the only one_, or something noble, like _I take responsibility anyway_, but when she turned to him, he was only staring at her. Hazel eyes tense and studying, like she was one of his reports.

* * *

December 21 - 4 years after

Per Nesta's request to Cassian, Solstice dinner has been moved up several hours, so the children can participate. By five their carriage pulls up in front of Feyre's manor, and the children are vibrating with excitement.

"Nesta, maybe we could have a word before we go in?" Cassian says to her in a low voice.

"I think we want to go inside and see our presents," Nesta says, loudly, brightly, so the triplets' cheers drown out Cassian's request.

He frowns only a little—it's hard not to be taken with the sheer joy on their tiny faces. So he quickly grins and says, "All right, let's go in, then."

Nesta had her own suitcase full of gifts from herself and Sugar Valley townspeople delivered earlier (except for what she had intended to bring Cassian—she has left that at his house), and she has nothing to hold in her hands as a buffer. So for the second time this evening, she uses her children to her advantage, and picks up Ollie; the child least likely to try and wriggle out of her arms, leaving her defenseless.

Cassian leads them up to the front door. It's thrown open before they have a chance to get there, and Elain hurries out to greet them.

"Happy Solstice!" she trills, pulling in Avery and Nicky for a hug. "Come in, come in! We're all waiting for you!"

Feyre, beaming, takes their coats. She has a circlet set atop her head, her golden-brown locks lightly curling down. A gift from Rhysand, no doubt. But not for Solstice.

"Happy birthday," Nesta says to her.

Feyre's eyes flutter. "Oh, thank you!"

Nesta stifles an eyeroll. Did she think she had forgotten?

"Now, we thought you might like to keep things casual, you know, with them, so we haven't really planned for a sit-down meal...we thought they'd like presents more...is that all right?"

Nesta frowns. "I mean, we haven't fed them—"

"No, I know, I meant we're just not going to make them sit around a table. There's food! Lots of food! Just on tables. And we're all in couches. Is that all right? Right in here, see?"

See she does. Everyone.

She is pleased she's holding Ollie, as it appears to be working in his favor too, judging by how tightly he grips her as he takes in, for the first time in his life, five adults he has never seen before. Even Avery and Nicky seem a bit taken aback, with Nicky stepping a little closer to Cassian's legs and Avery looking up at him, slightly dazed.

The Inner Circle sits on assorted couches and armchairs, all dressed for the occasion. A large table of food is on the right side of the room, with bottles of fine wine and fruit drinks too. In the middle, creating a small mountain on the floor, is a pile of presents.

Amren is there, already clad in a dozen glittering jewels. Her hair is shorter than it had been last time Nesta saw her, but her silver eyes are the same: unblinking, unwavering in her stare. Their gaze locks, but she draws her eyes away, towards Cassian, when he speaks.

"These are Ava and Nicky," he says, scooping them both up and smiling down at them when they giggle, "and that's Ollie with Nesta."

Morrigan, sharing a loveseat with Emerie, is the first to stand. "Hello, Nesta," she says, face blank. Nesta does her best to keep her expression free of ire as she nods in return. "Hi there," she says, much more warmly. "Ava and Nicky and Ollie...hi. I'm Mor." She gives them an affectionate smile, brown eyes crinkled and twinkling. She reaches out her hand...to touch them? She doesn't seem to know what to do, hesitating, and settles on patting Avery's leg.

"Are you hungry?" Feyre asks. "Look, we've got food here...Nicky, you like turkey, don't you?"

"No, I don't," he answers.

"He does," Nesta tells her. "He just doesn't remember what it's called."

"Oh. Here's the table..." Feyre waves over, rather unnecessarily, at the spread of food. Normally Nesta doesn't like buffet styles, but she admits to herself that it'll definitely go over better. She can see each of her children eyeing the gifts. There's no chance of getting them to sit at a table.

"We're getting plates of food before we're opening presents," she says, looking at them. "All right?"

Nesta hasn't eaten since lunch, but being here makes her appetite disappear, so she only fixes a plot for Ollie. She sits on one of the empty couches with him on her lap. Avery sits with Cassian and Nicky sits with Elain.

The initial awkward quiet is quickly dissipated by her sisters' determination to keep the evening lovely, so they force their friends and her children into conversation. Avery, of course, takes to them all like a dragon to the skies, and Nicky does too (after looking at his elder sister, and following her lead), but Ollie keeps looking down at his lap and blushing.

"It's all right," she murmurs, kissing the top of his head. "Would you like to open presents now?"

He nods, still looking down, but his siblings hold no such qualms.

"Yes, I want to!"

"I also want to! Mummy, can I?"

"Can they, Nesta?" Feyre says, nearly begging, batting her eyes.

"Sure."

"Yes! All right, Ava...this one's from me..."

"Here, Ollie," Elain says, radiating joy as she grabs a box and walks over to him. "This is for you!"

"Thank you, Aunt Elain," he says shyly. He looks up at Nesta.

"You can open it," she encourages him. "Nicky, what do you say?"

"Thank you!"

The flurry of presents commences, with the adults in the party opening theirs as well. Glittering trinkets for Amren, of course, and some jokes about Morrigan getting everyone the same thing.

"Here, Nesta, this is from me," Feyre says, handing over a gift.

Nesta blinks. "Oh. Thanks."

She gently slides Ollie over to Elain, but he is so taken with his—eugh—live caterpillar, in an aquarium, he hardly notices. Acutely aware of Feyre's eyes on her, Nesta opens the present. A small gasp escapes her.

Four portraits—just like the ones that decorate this house, except inherently better, because _these_ are of her children. One of each of them, grinning broadly, painted to perfection—_Feyre's quite good, isn't she_—and one of the four of them. Remarkable, Nesta thinks, how her sister has managed to create something she has never seen before, for she has never seen Nesta playing with the children in the park like this, in these positions.

Nicky looks over. "It's me!" he says. "It's me and Ava and Ollie and Mummy!"

Nesta picks up her head. Feyre's hands are held tightly at her mouth. She's bouncing up and down a little—much like the children do, actually, she thinks with a small smile.

"Do you like it?"

"I do," Nesta says, pleased to find her voice is even. "Thank you."

"I'm so glad," she says, relieved.

"Feyre, this is for you," Azriel says, passing Feyre a smaller package. "Elain, this one's yours..."

"Oh—Nesta, is this from you?" Elain asks, surprised.

"Yes," she says shortly.

"I...thank you."

"You haven't opened them yet," she says to them both.

They exchange a look before they do. In fact, it seems as though everyone except the children pauses to watch Elain and Feyre open what Nesta got for them. What are they expecting? She knows her sisters. She knows what they like.

"Oh, wow, Nesta," Feyre says, looking at the paint set. "From the Continent?"

Of course it is. Nesta lives on the Continent. "It's natural paint," she says. "Locally made. With the berries. And that's a sugarberry tree sapling, Elain."

"Oh, I've got my work cut out for me, don't I!" Elain says, excited.

"Why have you got your work—"

"They're really hands-on outside of Gilameyva...I've been doing a bit of research...oh, but it's actually best to plant them right in mid-winter, so this is perfect...Nesta, this is for you, from you friends in Sugar Valley, I think."

The gift exchange still is not over, after another ten minutes—the sheer amount of nonsense gifted to her children is staggering, but she cannot bring herself to be upset at the irrationality of it. They're overjoyed. But Nicky asks for a pause, so Nesta can take him to the bathroom, and then asks for orange juice on the way back, and because there wasn't any in the sitting room, she takes him into the kitchen herself. She intends to ask him about what he had seen earlier that morning, but when they enter the room, Emerie is there, sitting at the bar.

She stands when she sees them. "Hello, Nesta. N-Nicky." She gives Nesta's son a curt nod.

"Hi!"

"Hello, Emerie. Nicky...here's some orange juice. Appa will pour it for you."

"Okay, thank you Mummy," he says, taking it from her, holding the carton with both his hands.

Nesta waits until Nicky is out of earshot before she blurts out, "Can I ask you something?"

Emerie startles. Oh, had _she _wanted to say something? Cassian had told her that it is Emerie's turn to speak, didn't he?

"Unless you want to say something."

"Er, no, that's...all right."

"Well," Nesta says. How to put this delicately. "Nicky walked in on Cassian in my bed this morning. With me."

Judging by how wide Emerie's eyes go, that was not the correct choice. "We didn't do anything," she hurries to say. "He just fell asleep."

"Oh," Emerie says, the color of her cheeks going back to normal. "Well. Is that so bad?"

"I don't know," Nesta says, miserable. Amorette would know. She should have just waited to go home and ask her. Emerie doesn't know children.

"I don't think it's so bad," Emerie says, trying to be helpful. "I mean...if he sees it a lot more, he'll think it's normal."

"I don't know if he's going to be seeing it a lot more. So this might...confuse him."

"Oh," Emerie says. "Oh, we assumed...oh."

"You assumed what? Who's we?"

"Er, Mor and I. And, ah, everyone. That you two...would be...well. Together."

Nesta shakes her head and looks around the room. "Well—I don't know why you would assume that," she says lamely.

"Oh," Emerie says again.

"We're not. Together, I mean."

"And you won't be?"

Nesta purses her lips.

"Oh."

"It's complicated," Nesta says, finally.

Emerie plays with her braid, her wings relaxing slightly. "That's what I love about Mor, you know. She makes everything simple. Everything's easy." A slight trace of amusement shines through Emerie's dark eyes. "One would think three children and a love story would be simple, too."

"There's no..." Nesta starts to protest, but stops. Emerie was there for it, after all. There's no point in pretending with her. So she changes pace. "We used to be simple," she says softly.

"I told Mor that," Emerie says in the same tone. "I know you two...don't get along. But I told her...I always tell her, we were...friends."

They were. At a time where Nesta didn't have any—and Emerie didn't, either. That makes Nesta's leaving her without even saying goodbye more reprehensible.

"I don't think Nicky will be traumatized," Emerie says. She smiles slightly. "I wasn't, after all."

A short, breathless, embarrassed laugh escapes Nesta's mouth. She had forgotten about that. "Well that's...good to hear."

Emerie opens her mouth, but she is cut off by the sound of Nicky and Avery having a conversation in the hallway.

"I think Mummy stayed in the kitchen because she was angry," Nicky is saying.

"Mummy doesn't know how to be angry," Avery replies. "Mummy?" she calls out.

"In here, ladybug."

Nicky and Avery walk in, hand-in-hand. Emerie looks a little taken aback.

"Are you coming back, Mummy?"

"Yes, angels," she says. "Ah, Emerie, are you coming?"

"Yes," she says shortly. She hesitates. "Did they walk here by themselves?" she says to Nesta, under her breath.

"Yes," Nesta answers, bemused.

"He remembered the way?"

Nesta laughs. "Avery, Nicky, why don't you tell Emerie what you like to do at school?"

The entire walk back, Nesta watches Emerie's eyes grow wider and wider as the pair of them trip over themselves trying to talk about their friends and their drawings and their trips to the park and their flying lessons.

She knows Emerie's reaction well. She experiences it herself often enough. Three real, unique people.

Hours later, when Feyre declares the evening a success, and she and Cassian carry the children's sleeping forms into the carriage, and Rhysand and Azriel carry out the trunks of gifts for them, Emerie whispers to her, "I hadn't realized...perhaps you should talk to Nicky."

And when Cassian finally catches her eye—there is nowhere else to look—she knows she has to talk to him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, still got nothing to say. Hope you do, though, and I hope you share it with me! Love y'all. Stay safe<3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know all of us read for an escape, and that is especially true for fanfiction, so the only thing I will say here is this: I am sorry that elected officials have bastardized the phrase “thoughts and prayers” because I believe it is a sacred one. Please know I am entirely sincere when I tell you I have been thinking of and praying for you all, especially my Black American readers. I hope this grants you few minutes’ reprieve from the pain of the world. I wrote it for you, dear reader.

February 8 - Year of

Just as Nesta was finishing her preparations for dinner, Emerie knocked on the door. Nesta untied the apron she had donned before going to open it.

"Hello," she said in greeting, and not _Happy birthday_, even though that was why Emerie was coming over.

"Hi," Emerie answered.

"Dinner's ready. Come in."

Nesta was not naturally inclined towards cooking, and in their little cottage under the Wall there hadn't been much to cook with, but here she was learning. Sometimes she and Cassian even cooked together now.

"This looks nice," Emerie said, inspecting the duck carefully.

"I've learned, all right?" Nesta said, remembering the first and last time she had attempted to cook for Emerie. This time she had used Cassian's recipes.

"Where is he, anyway?" Emerie asked.

Nesta shrugged, although she knew. Whenever he left with a vague _I have to go_, it was to Velaris.

"That looks loved," she said, nodding towards a book on the countertop. She frowned. "Haven't you read that already?"

"It's children's stories. You're supposed to read them again."

"Or children are," Emerie said, stifling a grin as she poured herself some water.

Nesta scowled. "Cassian still likes them." They had even read some together. Nesta bit her lip tightly, trying not to think of the evenings spent in the living room, her reading aloud some of his childhood favorites.

"You have a great voice, you know that?" he said to her quite suddenly, interrupting what he had claimed was the best story in the book.

She had scowled at him then as she was scowling at Emerie now. For Nesta's voice had been described as many things: shrill, thin, even grating, once, by some horrible girl from her old village—but never great. "Shut up," she had snapped.

His eyes had widened and his arms went up in surrender. "What? I mean it!"

"You do not."

"I do! It's...clear. Soothing. And sometimes..." he moved his head from side to side, trying to think of the right descriptor. "Lyrical."

"Lyrical?" That was certainly a first.

"Yeah." His face had split into a grin. "Do you sing?"

"No," she said, forcing her head back into the book. "Don't interrupt me, or I won't read anymore of this Nicholas thief..."

"Nicholas, the Thief Who Stole the Night! And fine. Keep going."

But perhaps some of the memory bled onto her face, judging by Emerie's smirk.

"How do you normally celebrate?" Nesta said, quickly changing the subject.

Emerie's brown face fell flatly. "I don't, really."

"Well...how do people here normally celebrate?"

She shrugged. "Like this, more or less."

"Duck?"

"No, doing what they like. With...you know. People."

For the second time that evening, Nesta forced the flush out of her cheeks. A person knowing that they are one of your two friends isn't nearly so miserable when you are also one of their only friends.

* * *

December 23 - 4 years after

The children face leaving Velaris to go home to Sugar Valley with the same excitement they greet everything, but Elain is fighting back tears.

"We'll see each other again soon," Nesta reminds her, slightly exasperated.

"No, I know," she says. "I'll just miss you."

"You can come and visit whenever you want."

"Well, I will." She wipes her eyes. "I'll move in with you."

"Don't sound so miserable," Nesta says, laughingly.

"I just want to be with my whole family all of the time." Elain rubs at her face again, and, without much warning, throws herself at Nesta.

"Ugh—all right, Elain...yes, I'll miss you too..."

"Come on, Elain," Feyre says, walking towards them, Avery on her hip. "Give her some air."

"I'll miss you," she says again, muffled against Nesta's neck

"I won't," Nesta tells her, making both her sisters laugh. She hides a smile.

"You know," Elain says, finally taking a step back, "you don't look like you had a very relaxing vacation."

No, she'd wager she did not. Because after falling asleep in bed with Cassian on Solstice Eve, she had not managed to sleep at all for the two nights after that. Perhaps being back home in her own room would help grant her some peace of mind.

"There's not really a holiday from being a mother," she says instead.

Elain's eyes light up, looking over eagerly at Feyre. "We could give you one! We could take care of the kids for a few days and you could have some time with—for yourself! Or..." she says, backtracking at the look of alarm on Nesta's face.

"No, no, it's fine," Nesta says, bringing up her hands. "I just don't think I'm ready for that yet."

"We're here when you are," Feyre says, putting Avery down and throwing an arm around Elain.

"Mummy, I want to stay with my aunts," Avery says, tugging on her hand.

"They'll come visit soon. Where are your brothers?"

"Cass and Rhys have got them...oh, here they come."

"All set?" Rhysand asks when they reach them.

Nesta narrows her eyes at the extra bag he's holding.

"Is it all right if I join you?" Cassian mumbles in her ear, appearing at her side.

Well, she doesn't have much choice now, does she? "Sure."

"I just want to spend some more time with you all while the Illyrians are still celebrating."

This mollifies her slightly. "Of course."

After more tearful goodbyes from Elain—the children all seem upset to leave her, too, which softens Nesta's heart in a way she had not expected—Feyre and Rhysand take hold of them all and they are finally home.

"Elain and I will come soon," Feyre says, squeezing her tightly. "Thanks so much, Nesta. We loved having you in Velaris."

"Bye, Aunt Feyre."

"Bye, Aunt Feyre!"

"Oh, goodbye, you three!"

"We hope to have you again, Nesta," Rhysand says, the picture of politeness.

But Nesta doesn't think she will ever be able to look at him without glaring. Still, she maintains the same civility he does. "Thank you."

And she doesn't even snarl at the cooed "Bye, Uncle Rhys!"

"It's been a long few days," Nesta says. "We're going to take a nap."

"I'll get them down," Cassian says, picking up all three of them in one swoop, making them shriek with laughter.

"Thanks," she calls after him as he wrangles them up the stairs.

She supposes he's given her some time to herself, but there's stuff to do. She's got so much new crap she needs to put away...and what on earth is she supposed to feed Ollie's new caterpillar?

Half an hour later, when Cassian sees her sitting at the kitchen table scrawling out a list, he laughs.

"I thought you'd take a shower or something."

"I have so much to do," she says, rubbing her eyes.

"Those authors you found?"

"They've given me some samples...I need to decide what I'm giving to Adil." And she was incredibly busy trying to avoid him, of course.

"Well...when can we talk?"

Nesta looks up at him. She sighs. "Now." She pushes away the work in front of her.

Cassian perks up, obviously not having expected this.

She opens her mouth, but he holds up a hand.

"Actually, do you mind if I go first?"

Nesta blinks. "Sure."

He gives her a reassuring, relaxed grin and pulls out a chair. "I really wanted to thank you for agreeing to come for Solstice. It was the best of my life."

She can't stop her lips from tugging upwards. "The children enjoyed it as well."

"I hope you did, too."

Her slight smile falters, and she moves to pull back. He puts his hands over hers. "Nesta, I know that you're still hurting. But we've come a long way since a few months ago, and I want to keep that. And grow stronger. I don't want to do anything to jeopardize what we have now...and what I want us to be."

This is far too confrontational—

"I don't want to scare you off," he says softly, "but I don't ever want to leave things up to interpretation with you." He pauses for a moment, perhaps not even noticing how he traces her fingers with his. "I want us to be a family."

That isn't fair. Of course she wants that. What's the alternative? That her children come from—from a broken home? "A family can be many things." The hoarseness of her voice is unfamiliar to her.

"I know that." A short laugh escapes him, probably as he thinks of his own makeshift family in Velaris. "But I also know what I want ours to look like."

Is he going to spell it out for her, in the name of loose interpretations? She hopes he doesn't. She's not ready for that, she can't hear him say it.

"It was perfect, wasn't it?"

"What was perfect?" she asks blankly.

"That night. The two of us in one room, the three of them in another."

She flinches. "That was..."

"A mistake, I know. But it still happened." He still hasn't moved his hand. She hasn't moved hers either. He squeezes it tightly. "I know you liked being under the same roof, too. Let's just...not lose our momentum. Let's keep going. This pace is fine for me."

What if it's too fast for her, though? Or her children? Or—and this might be worse—too slow for them?

Sometimes she feels like she never got out of the Cauldron. Like she's still drowning.

* * *

January 1 - 1 year after

The last of the Solstice decorations were being taken down when Nesta walked to the post officer, the letter she was twirling in her hands drawing far less attention than the ever-growing bump under her gown.

Everyone was staring at it. And—ugh—it was only going to get bigger, wasn't it? Amorette had told her that a triplet pregnancy could result in gaining anywhere north of forty-five pounds. And also to stop referring to her belly as _it_.

There's no easy way to write to someone _I know I never intended to speak to you again, but I changed my mind because I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant, by the way, because I don't know how fae pregnancy works, apparently. Which I guess means I shouldn't be having sex, but well, at least I've stopped now. Write back!_

After hours of writing and crumbling up parchment and throwing it against the wall, Nesta had settled on the more gentle:

_Cassian,_

_Write back._

_Nesta._

Nesta knew perfectly well how pathetic that was, but after the way she left, she couldn't say anything else. She didn't want him to come here. She didn't want to go there. They'd have to meet in some neutral territory.

Announcing her pregnancy, she believed, was not something she could do in a letter. She had to do it face to face. Not only because she thought, well, he deserved being told that way, but...

Because of her reasoning for almost everything: she was a coward. That was the truth of it.

She had left him, and now he had the opportunity to leave her right back. Pregnant and alone. Delaying his finding out was delaying the possibility of that happening.

So even though she hated herself for sending that letter, she knew it was the only option she could bring herself to go through with.

* * *

December 23 - 4 years after

After playing at the park and dinner, putting the children down for the night, Nesta asks Cassian if he'll be all right alone with them for a few hours.

"I'm just going out to meet Amorette," she says.

"Before you do," he says, standing up from the couch and slipping his hand into his pocket. "I forgot to give you this...in all the—er—excitement."

He pulls out a small black box, very much like the one she had turned down years ago. But he opens it and she knows it's not the same one, because of the gift.

A white gold heart on a fine chain, with three tiny stones in the left corner. One deep violet, one royal blue, and one slate grey, each engraved with a letter: _A_, _N_, and _O_.

She traces it lightly with her finger. "Thank you," she says. "It's beautiful. I have...I have yours, too. Wait a moment." She rifles through one of the bags in the kitchen. "It's not—I mean, I guess I should've...you..."

"Give it here, Nesta," he orders, making her laugh slightly. She hands him the book.

He unwraps it and his eyes widen.

"I didn't really make it for you," she explains. "I just started it when they were born and kept adding on. But...I thought you might like it."

She keeps things. Three tiny bracelets Amorette had snapped on three tiny wrists, locks of hair cut for the first time, the first cohesive "art project"...

He looks up at her after flipping through some of the pages, eyes shining. "Thank you. Can I..." He gestures to the necklace, which she's set on the counter.

"Oh. Yes."

He picks it up as he walks behind her. Is it the cold of the metal that makes her wince slightly, or his body heat so close to her.

"Thank you," she says, looking down at it, after he fastens it. "It's beautiful."

"Say hello to Amorette."

It's rather abrupt of him, she thinks. But perhaps he's worried about pushing her too far. At any rate, Nesta takes her leave, and it's only a few minutes before she is knocking on her friend's door and being ushered in.

"Nice necklace," Amorette remarks right away.

"Thanks."

"It's a heart."

"I noticed."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"_Well_, what warrants a heart necklace?"

Nesta rubs her temples. "Can't I have a drink first?"

Amorette laughs before obliging.

She frowns as she takes the glass from her, jerking her head towards a chair in the corner of the room. "What's all that?"

Amorette's clear blue eyes slide over. "Oh. Paperwork."

"You don't normally bring this much home with you."

"Some research, actually," she admits, "from another hospital. In Ciyaluck."

Nesta raised an eyebrow. "You're working with a hospital in Ciyaluck?"

"Not exactly...they've put out some interesting stuff. They asked applicants to do their own...never mind," she says, waving her hands.

"No, wait. You're applying for something? That's great."

"It's up in the air, really. And I'll spare you the gore. Tell me what happened in Velaris."

Nesta takes a deep breath. "Cassian and I fell asleep in the same bed and Nicky walked in on us."

Even Amorette's healer-patience and understanding are not enough to stop her eyes going wide and her jaw dropping. "You _slept_—"

"No! We just fell asleep!"

"Oh." She pauses. "But...you were in bed together?"

"We didn't do anything," Nesta hurries to say. "Really. Just fell asleep. We didn't...nothing. It was just..." Nesta lets out a groan and drops her head into her hands. "Nicky saw."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Yes." Earlier today. She had stolen a moment alone with him.

"What was your favorite part of the trip?" she had asked, pulling him into her lap, and listened to his ramblings about everything he enjoyed for a few minutes before gently stopping him. "Do you remember when you walked into Mummy's room? And you saw me sleeping there with Appa?"

His brown cheeks darkened, going rosy at the top. Eyes cast down, he nodded.

"And how did that make you feel?"

He shrugged, still not looking at her.

"Sad? Or angry?"

"No..."

"Happy?"

"I don't know."

"You know we both love you very much, right?"

"I know."

"And you're allowed to come into Mummy's room when you wake up in the morning. Or if you wake up in the middle of the night. You know that?"

"I know."

"Would it..." Nesta paused, wondering how best to phrase it. "Would it be good or bad if Appa slept in Mummy's bed again?"

Nicky had looked up, his grey eyes shy as he started wringing his hands. "I don't know."

"All right," she had said, keeping her tone cheerful. She kissed his forehead. "Do you want to go play at the park?"

"Well, that's all right, then," Amorette says when she finishes recounting the events of the afternoon.

"How is that all right?"

"He's not upset," she replies. "He may not know exactly how it makes him feel, but it's not bad."

"What do you think he is feeling, then?" Nesta tries to decide based on his expression when he walked into the room that morning. He had averted his eyes...embarrassed?

Amorette echoes her sentiments. "In the moment, at least. But from what you said...I think he might be pleased."

Is that worse than him being upset? Nesta can't tell.

"Look, he's clearly not losing any sleep over it, and neither should you. You spoke to him, reassured him, made it clear he can come to you. What else is there?"

"I don't know...do you think he told Avery and Ollie?"

Amorette shrugs. "Well, they're not very good secret keepers."

That much is true. "Should I talk to all three of them?"

"If they ask. Parents have done worse things to their children than falling asleep, Nesta," she teases. "When you traumatize them enough for them to run away, it'll be for something worse than this."

Nesta sighs and stretches out her legs. "Suppose you're right...thanks for the book, by the way." An extremely rare edition of one of Nesta's favorites. "Although I don't know if I should thank you for supporting my competition."

"As if," Amorette says, grinning. "Adil tracked it down for me."

Nesta feels a warm flutter in her stomach. "Oh."

She has so much here, doesn't she? The thought doesn't leave her, throughout the whole evening with Amorette and the walk home. Not just for the children...but for her. Adil and Miri and Amorette...and neighbors...and Zeyn.

Who calls her name just as she walks up the steps to her porch.

* * *

February 16 - Year of

The cold of the Illyrian mountains did not melt alongside the snow, but all of the iciness inside the General Commander's house had gone. There were quiet moments of awkwardness here and there, when Nesta could hear him not mentioning the forbidden words: _Velaris, Rhys, Feyre, _etc., but the other moments outnumbered them and were pleasant. Which was why Nesta had agreed to join him on one of the mysterious meetings he always disappeared to.

He had asked her a few days ago, after coming home from one of these meetings. Slumped on the couch and complained about how the preferred method rebellion appeared to be directly disobeying him.

"Step down," Nesta suggested, and he had rolled his eyes. "Well, I don't see why you try so much. There are more armies than just the Illyrian one. So let them choose a new commander if they hate you. Be the other armies' commander."

He stretched his arm out, his fingers trailing the spot next to where her knee was under the blanket, and smiled softly. "But I'm Illyrian, Nesta."

She knew that. "Well...I just don't think you should be giving so much to people who don't even want you there."

"There's no way," he said. "Think what the rebels will do if I step down."

"I don't understand. They're Night Court, aren't they? So aren't they loyal anyway? And aren't they pleased to have an Illyrian High Lord?"

"They don't see themselves as Night Court," he said. "They live amongst themselves. They are only Illyrian. So they don't like having an Illyrian High Lord. They like Night Court society about as much as you do," he added ruefully. His grin tugged downwards slightly as he mused, more to himself, she thought, "Actually, you do have quite a bit in common with them..."

"With the Illyrians warlords?" Nesta asked drily.

"Camp lords. We're not at war."

"Not at war yet, you said."

His fingers inched farther, and she leaned back as he began to rub one of the dimples in her knee from over the blanket. "Come with me."

He was still touching her. "Come with you where?"

"To a meeting."

She hadn't thought he would be able to convince her, but his pleading and a rare burst of curiosity on her part won out in the end. So after a morning of his teasing her that they were going to be late and her grumbling that it was so early, Nesta found herself at the entrance of a building in an Illyrian camp that looked very much like the one she and Cassian lived in.

"Lysander's the new camp lord," Cassian told her. "Relatively young. The old one...well. Not a fan of Rhys' or mine."

"Did you kill him?" she asked, half teasing, half genuine.

"What? No! I didn't kill him...and keep your voice down, if you're going to accuse me of political assassination."

"How'd he die?"

"We're not sure," Cassian admitted. "It might have been an accident. But probably not."

"Are you going to find out?"

"We are." He grinned at her.

Nesta scowled. "_That's _what I'm here to do? I thought you wanted me to sit next to you."

"You will. And add another healthy dose of fear while I interrogate."

"This is stupid," Nesta said, crossing her arms. "Don't you have a mind-reader on hand?"

"This is a new camp lord," he reminded her. "I want him to see me as his commander, not Rhys' lapdog who calls him in anytime things get rough."

She could appreciate that, at least. "And I'm your lapdog?"

She expected him to give her a wicked grin and say something stupid like, _You're a wolf_, but he only laughed and said, "No. Who would believe that? You're just here on an excursion."

"That's a big word."

"Oh, shut up. I need your help. All right?"

"Fine," she agreed, forcefully making her tone sound begrudging. "You don't think the new camp lord killed the old one?"

"I don't. But I could be wrong. Let's go see."

The building was not much nicer than the tents the Illyrian military had pitched during the war...and the people's attitude towards Nesta have not changed. Muttering greeted her when she entered the room at Cassian's side, and some of those religious hand gestures were thrown in her direction.

She stifled a scowl. She'd been living in Illyria for six months now. If she were going to unleash hellfire down upon them, wouldn't she have done it already?

Cassian didn't waste much time on introductions. On their part, that is. "This is your new commander's table?" He motioned for Nesta to sit down next to him.

Lysander cleared his throat. "I decided on a chain of command, yes."

He was nervous. That was...good? Because he was nervous about doing something without Cassian's permission first? But if Nesta were living here, she wouldn't like knowing that her camp lord was nervous when presenting his decisions.

Oh, she didn't know what she thought. She didn't really understand the politics before her and she honestly didn't care to.

The whole meeting seemed spectacularly boring to Nesta. Even things that should have been interesting—Cassian asking why no females had been chosen for the new commander's table, discussions of Illyrian separatists starting a fire in the middle of the camp—were not. She just...didn't care.

She didn't think much of it was interrogating, either. Until Cassian said, "It seems odd that an established camp lord, who was well-versed in aerial combat, fell to his death. Don't you think, Lady Nesta?"

It had been quite some time since she'd heard _that _made-up title. But she gave no indication. "I do," she said.

They all flinched at the sound of her voice.

Cassian ignored them, pretending like they were the only ones in the room, as he leaned back and said, "What's your theory?"

Nesta looked around. "Was he popular?"

"He was not."

"Hm." Nesta thought for a moment.

If Cassian had wanted a politician, he would have brought Rhysand.

So she didn't think up any veiled threats. Instead, she turned to Lysander, and asked, just as she had asked Cassian, "Did you kill him?"

Asking Cassian, though, had not been nearly so funny. There was no chorus of sharp breaths, no sputtering.

But the answer was the same—more or less.

"No, Lady!"

Ooh, he would've had to be quite young to look at her with that kind of fear. But it was still hard to tell with faeries, for her.

"I don't think he did it," Nesta said.

"Anybody else?" Cassian was looking only at her.

She studied them all carefully. There—two from Lysander's right. He was calling on his gods far too much for an honest male.

"Did _you _kill him?"

His brown face bleached. "I did not, Lady." There was, perhaps, less terror in his voice than in Lysander's, but that wasn't very impressive. Perhaps he did not kill the old camp lord, but he definitely knew who did.

"This doesn't strike me as a good commander's table," Nesta muttered to Cassian, who chuckled slightly.

"Lysander...and you...stay. The rest of you, take your leave."

It wasn't something that she hoped to do again, she thought to herself. She didn't particularly enjoy intimidating people; she didn't like to be around people in the first place. But it was for a good cause, she supposed. Tangentially working for the Night Court, but weeding out corruption, right?

And she couldn't deny it—she did enjoy the secretive grins Cassian kept shooting her way.

* * *

December 23 - 4 years after

Cassian doesn't mean to eavesdrop. Really. He just thinks, when he hears Nesta coming up to the door, that she'll appreciate his help with her coat. Walk her into the living room where they can go over the book she had given him.

But then he hears her say, "Zeyn."

He freezes. Is he—here to spend the night? Should he leave?

Footsteps away from the door, and a kiss.

"I missed you," he says.

"I missed you too. Thank you for your gifts. We loved them."

When had he given her a gift.

"Suppose they're asleep."

"You can see them tomorrow." She pauses. "How was Solstice here?"

"Same as always. Madam Sabina had the kids put on a dance show."

Nesta laughs. "I wonder what the routine was like."

"Oh, it's such a shame you missed it. I can only hope this routine is repeated an infinite amount of times at every single town fair, so you have a chance to see it."

"Fingers crossed."

She's not sending him away, but she doesn't seem to be inviting him in. He notices, too.

"He's here, isn't he?"

Zeyn's voice has changed. He's not cold, but he's certainly not warm.

Nesta's own voice is unapologetic. "He's my children's father, Zeyn."

"But what is he to you?"

Cassian holds his breath. He doesn't want to listen in anymore, but he's too in-tune to her voice. He'll hear her from anywhere in the house now.

"He's my children's father," she says again. "That's a lot, Zeyn."

"Come on, Nesta, you know what I mean."

He wishes he could see her face—well, no, he doesn't. He saw it earlier tonight. She's not ready. He knows that.

Finally, ever so soft, she says, "I don't know, all right?"

Zeyn waits another few seconds before saying, just as softly, "All right."

"I can't have...anything...right now," she says. "It's too much. I'm focusing on the children."

"You always focus on the children."

"Well, really, Zeyn, what the hell do you expect me to do?"

"No, it's not _wrong_. I'm just saying...do you really think if you take some time to figure out what you want you won't be focusing on them?"

Privately, Cassian agrees with him.

"I don't know."

Now she sounds tired. Cassian doubts she'll want to look at the album with him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Zeyn...all right?"

Another kiss. "All right. Good night."

Cassian is sitting on the couch in the living room by the time Nesta makes it to the door.

"Hey," she says, untying her boots as she sits down.

"Hey," he says, casual. "How was Amorette's?"

"Great," she says flatly. "How's the album?"

He can't stop the smile on his face. "Great."

She chuckles slightly and reaches for it. "Did you see the little handprints? When they wake up, we can ask them to hold their hands against it...I still make them do it sometimes...they've just gotten," Nesta pauses to sigh and smile slightly, "so big."

"Ollie was always the smallest?" he asks, looking at the prints.

"Yes. I guess he'll be bigger than Avery one day." She laughs. "Oh, wow...do you ever think about what they'll be like? What they'll look like? Nicky looks more like you every single day."

Cassian perks up. "Really? Do you think?"

She nods. "He's started losing his little cheeks already. They're really not toddlers anymore. Three and a half."

"Three and a half," he echoes.

Nesta flips some of the pages. "And the hair. Look, Avery's hair was so light when she was born. I thought she was going to be blond."

They sit for another hour or so, talking about their children. This time, when Nesta starts to doze off, she claps her hands together and announces she is going to bed.

Cassian doesn't mind in the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of y’all might not be aware, but since these last weeks were so tough for me, I turned to you. I asked for prompts to write things that might distract me, and I am so pleased that it distracted a lot of you. Some of these are LPG-verse, some are not. All are short, and hopefully fun for you. You can find them on my tumblr--that's ladynestarcheron . tumblr . com (without the spaces). For those of you unfamiliar with tumblr, right at the top of that url there's a row of text boxes; you can find them in the one that says "my fics".
> 
> You can continue to come to me when things are hard for you. My writing will always be here to provide an escape, and I am always here to lend a listening ear.
> 
> Don’t let the bad days win.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I recalled earlier this week that in canon, showers don't exist. You might be thinking, hey Lior Zoë, what are you talking about? Allow me to refresh your memory. In A Court of Wings and Ruin, Nesta confesses to Feyre in front of the Inner Circle that her PTSD is triggered by taking baths, because of the Cauldron. So she has to bathe in buckets. Feyre assures her that they will come up with some contraption that will allow her to clean herself some other way.  
In the snippet from the end of A Court of Frost and Starlight (which we now know is called A Court of Silver Flames, btw!!), Nesta mentions her ability to slip into a bath is huge progress. So presumably, Feyre has not given her this contraption.  
I think about this all the time, because the idea of a superior race with all the magic in the world not having ever invented showers is so supremely stupid to me. However, it has come to my attention that on two occasions I have forgotten this, and mentioned showers in previous chapters of LPG. I have elected to continue ignoring this and in the future will continue to reference showers.  
But in accordance with the rules of the game, I can no longer call this fic canon compliant AU. Henceforth, this fic is a showers exits!AU and nothing more.

February 9 - 4 years after

The last of Sugar Valley's snow melts in early February, and as mid-month nears, the weather almost looks warm outside. Of course, it is still plenty cold, so every morning brings a new argument on whether or not Avery has to wear her coat, which sparks an identical one with Nicky.

Nesta takes a deep breath. "All right, Avery," she says. "Stand outside for one whole minute without your coat. Just on the porch. Yes, you too, Nicky."

"I want Ollie to come too," Avery demands.

"No, Ollie doesn't want to stand in the cold without a coat. There you go. Your minute starts...now."

Nesta watches the two of them stand on the front porch, Nicky enjoying himself like it is a game and Avery, cross and stubborn, glaring at her.

Ollie sits on the floor next to the door, working on putting his boots on by himself. He's quiet except for slight whispers as he coaches himself on how to tie his laces.

"Had enough?" Nesta calls.

"I'm cold, Mummy."

"Well, come inside and put on your coat, then," Nesta says, doing her absolute best to keep her voice even.

Nicky does, but Avery remains outside, scowling.

Nesta takes a deep, shaky breath. "Avery," she says. "I can see you're shivering."

Avery stomps her foot. "I am _not_."

Nesta closes her eyes. "All right," she says. It's far too early in the day to choose a hill to die on. "Let's just walk to nursery, then."

Nesta wraps Avery's coat inside hers—she can't hold it normally, for if Avery sees it, she'll throw a fit. She fastens her buckle tightly, so the smaller coat won't slip down her body and she can still use both her hands to hold onto her children.

But Avery doesn't want to hold hands today.

Eventually, she manages to get all three of them to nursery, with Avery in her sour mood the whole way, Ollie keeping to himself as much as possible, and Nicky blissfully unaware of both his sister's and his mother's irritation.

She sneaks the coat into their teacher's hands and leaves after only two quick kisses goodbye—Avery has joined her friend Emilia in a game and refuses to pay Nesta any mind at all.

So Nesta scowls on her way to start her day, too. Perhaps even more than usual, for Maz ducks behind a bookshelf as soon as he sees her.

"How have you scared him off already?" Zeyn asks, laughingly, from behind her.

Nesta whips around. "All I did was walk in here!" She can't help her outburst. She doesn't have many outlets. She'll take what she can get.

But Zeyn is rather used to this, and his easy-going personality never falters. "Woah," he says, holding his hands up. "Coffee's in the back room. Come with me."

She'd like to stew in her misery for a bit longer, actually, but Zeyn doesn't let her, pushing her along and sitting her down in a chair.

"Is it the workload?" he asks her. "I know you've been taking the brunt of those Prythian writers..."

"It's all of it, Zeyn," Nesta says, dejected. "It's the writers and my regular workload and Avery's going through this phase...and Ollie's being quieter than usual and I think his lungs are part of the reason, really..."

And she doesn't say it to him, but it's Cassian, too. Not that he's done anything wrong, it's just...he's been in the Night Court all week, and she has grown so used to having him around. And now it feels like everything has been dumped upon her alone. Pairing this with that "paperwork" that Amorette had started doing, which is shaping up to be a huge opportunity for her in Ciyaluck...Nesta's never felt more burdened in her life.

"At least Nicky's still singing to himself," she says miserably.

"Ava's not exactly depressed, Nesta," Zeyn says, teasing slightly.

"I think she hates me now."

"She doesn't! Like you said, it's just a phase."

"It's not..." Nesta swallows. "It's just a lot."

And now she can't even share with him, because...well...it feels too weird. She and Cassian have been co-parenting for months now. She's been slowly easing Zeyn out of conversations like this, and to suddenly talk about something as intimate as her relationship with her daughter with such brazenness...it feels wrong to be talking to anyone else this way.

But that isn't right. She still loves Zeyn. He still helped her with the children so much when they were born, when she was pregnant.

"It feels a lot to handle sometimes," she says finally.

Zeyn cups her face with his hand. His eyes, warm as ever, twinkle at her. "You don't have to handle it alone," he promises, voice sweet.

She summons a smile. "Is that an offer to edit these short stories I just got?"

Her ill attempt at humor works. He laughs and breaks apart. "Count on it."

* * *

February 3 - 1 year after

It was a good thing Adil had found her a house when he did, because the deals with the bank and with Erest, the councilhead, were finalized just as Nesta grew to be too big to fit through the door of her room at the inn.

Nesta had actually been looking forward to her second trimester, because of the promise of not greeting every morning with violent illness, and then crumpling up in a heap on the bathroom floor.

But it seemed that the first day she had awoken to find all she had eaten before going to bed yesterday had successfully stayed down, was also the day she thought she would not be able to get out of bed on her own. While it was true—in her case, at least—that the fourth month of pregnancy brought with it the energy that had all but disappeared completely these past few months, it wasn't much use if she was too heavy to handle herself.

Amorette, her healer, was pleased to note every pound Nesta gained. She had been worried, at first, having heard tell of females unable to produce enough space and nutrition for multiples and losing all of them, one after the other, but Nesta was having no such troubles. She—and Miri—had assured her that she did not look to be the same size as her new two-story house, though.

(There was some concern about the size of one of the triplets, a male, significantly smaller than the other two, but Amorette said as long as they were keeping an eye on it all, they should be fine.)

"Right, then," Adil said, coming down the stairs of the house. "You should be set for now. Placeholders," he added, nodding towards the blue couch in the living room and other items that graced Nesta's sparse new home. "Until we can...get some..." he trailed off, looking around, perhaps doing more measuring in his head.

"You've done more than enough," Nesta said firmly. While pregnancy had not been kind to her over the last month, Adil certainly had, helping her with everything she could possibly think to need. Miri as well. And Zeyn...well, Nesta could never really tell if he was more irritating than helpful, but he was there, too.

"Got the cribs set up, room next to yours. Didn't paint the room, though..."

Nesta could hardly believe it. "_What?_"

Adil looked as startled as she felt. "Well, Miri said it was important for you to paint it. Nesta...?"

"Nesting," Miri called from the kitchen.

"Right."

"No, no, it's not that. I just..."

_I just forgot I'd need cribs._

"...didn't realize you had bought me cribs. That's—that's too kind."

"Gift from the shop," he grunted, looking away. That was fine. Nesta didn't want to make eye contact either. "Well, we'll be on our way."

Miri came out of the kitchen. "I've got some meals ready for you in there, dear."

"Oh, thank you, Miri. You didn't have to do that."

"Oh, please. We'll see you tomorrow, dear."

"Thank you," she said again, to them both, as she walked them out.

The sound she made when she shut the door was between a sigh and a groan. Endless relief and gratitude that she finally—_finally_, for the first time in her _life_, had her own home. And the dawning realization that it would not be hers alone in a few short months.

Or would it? Nesta didn't remember deciding she was going to keep the triplets, only that she wasn't terminating the pregnancy. Were those her children stretching out her insides, she wondered, running her hands over her belly as she stared in the mirror? Or was she just holding them for someone?

That was something she needed to figure out. Before Cassian wrote back, at least.

She tried not to think about how he hadn't written back yet. Perhaps he was still...upset. But he would, eventually, and then she...they would...what?

Less than five months to go...and with the average duration of a triplet pregnancy being far less than the typical nine months, probably not even that. Whatever decision she was going to make, she had to make it soon.

* * *

February 18 - Year of

Nesta never thought the sight of Cassian's house in their camp would bring her so much relief. But it meant that trip was finally over.

"I've got to shower," she said, as soon as she walked in the door. "I have to get all of that place off of me."

"What was so bad about it?" he called after her, but she didn't stop to answer.

That camp wasn't so terribly different from this one, true. In fact, it was uncannily similar, as she had noted when they first arrived there. But the people were different. There was no love lost between all the townspeople here (save Cassian and Emerie) and Nesta, but she had not missed being looked at that way. Hated...feared.

She hadn't minded really, in that room. And she could admit to herself here, alone in the shower, that she even...enjoyed some of it. The parts where she spent all her waking hours with Cassian, and even when there were other people in the room, she wasn't sharing him.

Nesta had never been someone's first choice. No one had ever placed her at the height of their priorities, given themselves to her first and foremost. And that still wasn't what was happening. They had only gone because Cassian was General Commander—sworn to her sister and Rhysand and the people of the Night Court first.

But all that had seemed far away on this trip. It was so easy to pretend like none of that was real.

Even then, she knew the illusion couldn't last that long.

* * *

February 26 - 1 year after

Days seemed to go by quicker now. What with her new house, Nesta felt she had more freedom to go about the town as she pleased. She was so taken with living life as she saw fit, she didn't even mind that Sugar Valley really didn't have much to do. She thought she might prefer it that way.

In the mornings, she would walk to the bookstore, and someone would be waiting with a coffee for her. Zeyn or Miri or sometimes Leyla. Perhaps they worked in shifts.

She'd read and repair all day, and stop to eat lunch with everyone at half past noon. There hadn't been a collective lunch break when she had started, but one day she sat down with a large container of chicken salad, and Zeyn had sat himself next to her, and then Leyla had joined, and Maz followed her, along with Xeyale and Amir, and Miri had come to see what the gathering was about, and then Adil had wandered in after her. Sometimes their publishing agent, Hazar, stopped by and joined them.

Sometimes she'd leave in the afternoon for a visit with Amorette. In the evenings, she'd go home and fix herself dinner, which she liked to do alone.

But after that, she'd go for a walk about the town, and inexplicably, someone would be there. Most often Zeyn.

"So, you think of any names yet?" he said to her one night, as they walked.

Nesta popped a sugarberry into her mouth. "Names?"

"For the babies."

Nesta flinched. "No."

"Oh, do you think it's bad luck to talk about it? Some people do. My mother's that way."

"I don't believe in luck," she said. Luck was so faerie, like their pantheon of gods and fate and mates. None of that was real. Not real enough to matter, anyway.

Zeyn laughed. "That must be nice."

She didn't think it was. He laughed at everything, didn't he? Nesta would never be that way.

"So, do you need any help? With the names?"

"Did you have some you wanted to share?" she asked drily.

"ZJ," he said immediately.

"ZJ? Zeyn Junior?"

He grinned at her. "Got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

She summoned a weak smile. Where she was from, someone was only a _Junior_ if they had taken their parent's name.

"Zahra's pretty popular for a girl," he continued, unaware of her thoughts. "I think it's pretty."

"I don't think I want a Gilameyvan name, though," she mused. And she certainly shouldn't choose a name if she wasn't sure she wanted to keep the children.

"What's popular in Prythian, then?"

"I don't know," she said shortly. Then, after considering it for a few moments, "I'm from south of Prythian."

"What's popular there? Is Nesta a common name?"

"Hardly," she scoffed. Feyre wasn't, either. They did know their fair share of Elains, though. "I guess...Heather? Joyly? Analynn?"

"Joyly's nice."

"Well, I didn't like any of the Joylys I knew."

"What about boy names?"

Nesta thought. "Well...Caleb, I guess. Elias." She didn't remember many boys she had known. Tomas, of course, but she wasn't going to name anyone after _him_. "Actually," she said, softly, "I did always like my father's name."

He touched her elbow gently. "What was his name?"

"Ollison," she said. She hurried to find something else to say. She certainly didn't want to talk about her father. "I like Avery for a girl. A book I liked when I was younger...the heroine was called Avery."

"Human-authored?"

"Yes."

"Maybe we can find it," he said. "How do you know so many human-authored books anyway?"

So Adil hadn't mentioned her slight stretch of truth. "I lived among them for many years," she said.

"Wow, really? What were they like?"

"They were normal," she answered, irritated by the question.

"Really, even to a High Fae?"

Oh. That was why he asked. How to answer?

"Friendships and love can transcend race," she said, thinking of her sister and her new family. Herself and...

"You loved some of them."

After a lengthy pause, Nesta said, "I did. Very much."

* * *

February 11 - 4 years after

Avery's poor attitude does not transfer towards her behavior at nursery, according to her teacher, and while Nesta supposes she should be glad of this, she finds she's only upset that it seems to be just her Avery has a problem with.

This is further worsened by her shrieks of delight when Cassian accompanies her to pick them up that afternoon.

Avery races towards him like she hasn't seen him in months—even though Cassian had arrived last night, and they had all eaten breakfast together.

Cassian doesn't seem to notice Nesta's disgruntlement, and laughs as he picks Avery up into his arms. Nicky and Ollie clamber at his legs, and he scoops them up too.

Nesta keeps her eye roll to herself as she takes their bags. Not Avery's coat, though—because at _Cassian's _request, she had elected to wear hers today.

At least Nicky says, "Mummy, I missed you so much today!" and Ollie nods along eagerly.

"Can we go to the park?" Avery asks.

"You know the rules, Ava," Cassian says sternly, as they leave. "We go home and eat first."

Avery pouts some, and Nesta's blood rushes to her cheeks—is she going to throw a tantrum? Oddly, the idea of a public fit doesn't faze Nesta at all, as the three of them have each had their fair share, but having Cassian see how incompetent she can be mortifies her beyond belief.

But he coaxes her out of it by promising they're going to go to the park later, and actually, they're going to cook something together to eat, and won't that be fun?

Nesta has been hiding her bitterness from her children their whole lives, so this one afternoon is hardly the one that kills her. But she takes extra care to keep up cheery pretenses because of Cassian's presence, and she's convinced she's done a good job of it, because he doesn't seem to notice anything's the matter at all.

At least, she doesn't think he does, but right after they shut the door to the children's room, he puts his arm over her shoulder, and—when they are safely out of earshot, in the kitchen—says, "Nesta, what's wrong? You've been miserable all day."

"I have _not_ been miserable all day," she scoffs, trying to hide her flush with a glare.

"Come on, Nesta. What is it? Is it Ava? Kids act like that all the time."

"I know how children act," she snaps.

"I didn't mean to imply you don't," he says. "Just...trying to reassure you." He hesitates. "Nesta...Rhys and Az and Mor each told me that you're a wonderful mother."

"What a surprise that must have been."

"To them, maybe, but not to me," he says seriously. "I always knew. But it's okay if this is hard for you to do on your own. With Ava and with everything you've had to take on at work...and, you know, if anything else has been pressuring you..." he trails off, and when she doesn't show any sign she knows what he's talking about, his lips tug upwards slightly, and he adds, "If _I've _been pressuring you."

"You have not been pressuring me," she says automatically.

"Well, I hope you're lying," he says, "because I've certainly tried to."

Nesta rolls her eyes.

"You really haven't thought about my telling you I want us to be a family?" he asks, skeptical. "I don't believe you. Come on, Nesta, it's just me. You can tell me."

Nesta gives a short, irritated sigh. "Well, of course I've thought about it."

"And what?" He takes a step closer to her. "You haven't come up with an answer yet?" He puts his hands on her shoulders, smirking slightly.

He's...he's much closer now. And his wings aren't spread wide, but inching closer to her as well. Blocking out everything in her periphery, so he is all she can see. "I have."

He raises an eyebrow. This is unnatural, isn't it, being this close without actually touching? "And?"

His eyes—like Avery's, like Ollie's, like a dark honey disappearing into the black of his pupils. It takes her a minute to remember what he's talking about. "Oh," she says, slightly surprised to remember. "Well. Of course I want us to be a family." She doesn't get a chance to say anything else.

Because then he is kissing her, and it's like no time has passed. His hands circling her waist and hers taking their place in his hair. He tastes the same—that vague lemon and mint. His hair is a bit longer, but the growling sound from the back of his throat when she pulls it is just as she remembers. It's what spurs him onward, downward. His lips move to the side of her mouth, and he kisses down her neck, but she pulls him back upwards. It's been too long. She has waited so long for this.

And it appears she'll have to wait a while longer, because just as their hands start to roam, a small voice from the stairwell calls, "Mummy, my throat is really hurting a lot."

They rip apart. Cassian's eyes are wide, and he snaps his wings backwards to be tucked against his back.

Nesta whips around, hands furiously smothering her hair—just in time to see Ollie wobble into the kitchen.

He hasn't seen.

The pair of them breathe a sigh of relief together.

Then Nesta remembers what he said. "Your throat hurts, angel? Come here." She picks him up and holds him against her. He lays his head on her shoulder and coughs, wet and deep.

"It's been back," Nesta whispers to Cassian. To Ollie she says, "Do you feel like you need to take the purple medicine we got from the healer?"

Ollie nods, yawning.

"It's in that cabinet there," she says to Cassian. She takes a deep breath to calm herself so she can calm him. "We're going to take a little bit of medicine. We're going to practice our deep breaths over the steaming bowl, and first thing tomorrow we are going to see our friend Healer Nazrin. All right, angel?" She looks at Cassian when she speaks, and he nods along with Ollie.

After she directs Cassian on how much of the tonic to give Ollie, she says, "Now, why don't you go with Appa and sit on the couch, and Mummy will bring the steaming bowl?"

This is not the first time Ollie has woken up in the middle of the night complaining of throat or chest pains and a cough. Nesta's not overly terrified; in fact, she's even pleased to see he is old enough to tell her exactly what hurts and that he wants medicine. But she knows that for Cassian, this is the first time, and he is probably as scared as she was. So sitting with him for a moment alone on the couch while she takes care of the treatment will probably calm him down.

And give her just a few seconds to collect herself. There is _far _too much on her plate. She doesn't need anything extra to deal with now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, what do we all think of the new title? A Court of Silver Flames?  
Also, did you know, I started a booktube, and it's called lizotwostars, and the link is available on my tumblr? Also also did you know, June 21st was this week and it’s the triplets’ birthday? Also also also did you know, June 25th is tomorrow and that’s my birthday!!  
Thanks a million to Gabriela, my beta, and to YOU! Love you all<3


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience during this brief hiatus! I took some time off to focus on exams. Thank you especially to those wonderful readers who shared with me how they reread LPG during my hiatuses. Just so y'all know, when you share these types of things with me, it means so much. I screenshot it, sometimes send it to my best friend to cry over it with him. Anyway. All this to say, I love you all. Thank you.  
(Especially you, Gabriela, beta-extraordinaire!)

**A/N: Back after my hiatus for exams! Hope you're all keeping safe. Enjoy!**

* * *

February 12 - 4 years after

The sun is barely shining before Nesta has rushed out to—who else?—Zeyn's house.

She can hear him taking his time as he makes his way to the door and she bounces on the balls of her feet. It's not an emergency...yet. But she doesn't like the minutes ticking by, with Cassian home alone with the three of them.

His warm brown eyes are bleary only for a second before he realizes it is her standing before him, and then they fly open.

"Nesta? What are you—is everyone all right?"

"We need to take Ollie to see his healer," she says.

"All right, I'll get my shoes. But—you didn't bring him?"

Nesta winces. Poor wording on her part, indeed. "No," she says. "I meant...Cassian and I are taking him. I...need you to come be with Avery and Nicky."

Zeyn, to his credit, does not flinch. His concern slips into something else, something she cannot name, for only a fraction of a second before it is back. "Of course. Just a minute, yeah?"

And he reappears less than a minute later, boots laced, shutting the door behind him. They set off together.

He doesn't even ignore her. "Are you worried?"

"I'm always worried," she says. "It's not the worst it's ever been, but...it's been a while." It had been six months since Nicky had coughed badly enough to need to see a healer. She remembers holding him in the first minutes after his birth—she hadn't been given him right away, like his siblings, because even then there had been something wrong with his lungs.

Zeyn must sense where her mind has run off to, because he reaches out and squeezes her hand. "If you think it's not that bad, you're probably right. You're going to see a healer. Everything will be fine."

She shoots him a shaky, grateful smile.

"Are Ava and Nicky awake?"

"I don't think so. Not when I left."

"All right...just get them ready and take them to nursery?"

"Yes, I already packed their things...if Avery won't put on a jacket, don't argue with her, but bring it along and give it to her teacher."

"Is that still going on?"

"Don't get me started," she grumbles. They round the corner and walk up the path to the house. Nesta holds out her hand to stop him. "Zeyn," she starts. Pauses. "Thank you."

It's not enough...there's more to say, she knows. But it does it, for now. And she has more pressing matters at hand, anyway.

* * *

April 12 - Year of

With the dawn of spring came dramatic change in the shop. Whatever winter wear had not been sold was tucked away in storage, and the switching out of the clothier's merchandise had inspired Nesta to do the same in Cassian's home.

Cassian did not have much to begin with, of course. But she felt she could rearrange the furniture in her bedroom.

Not that she had done much to make the place "hers"—in fact, she was not quite sure how. The little apartment she had rented in Velaris was the closest thing she had ever had to her own home, and she hadn't done much in the way of decor there. Briefly, she wondered if it was still in her name, or if Feyre had stopped paying the rent.

She decided she didn't care much. She was never going to go back to Velaris. Even if Cassian did still take his trips there.

While it was true that she had never purchased any bedding or curtains or a vanity, the subscription Cassian had gotten her for Solstice—NightWrite—had provided her with little knick-knacks. She had thrown out anything with Night Court insignia, but kept most of it. So pushing her bed to one side of the room and moving her bookshelf to the other was also accompanied by shuffling around of these objects.

It was during this...rather useless endeavor, she could admit to herself, of switching the order of the tiny figurines on her shelf, that she found it—the old flyer she had taken from the bar in the town center. The one advertising ships to that land across the sea. Gilameyva.

Nesta sat down on the bed. This is the paper that had inspired her, all those months ago, to get a job. To save up and go.

Since she never bought much of anything, she definitely had enough to book comfortable passage. She could go. Just set sail and...never come back.

Or maybe she could go...somewhere else. On a vacation. And then she would...come back. Didn't people plan for summer holidays months in advance? She could bring it up to Cassian now. Couldn't she?

But no, that would be insane. She had to save up. Because she was not going to live in his house forever. And where would she live? Would she build herself a house here, in the Illyrian mountains?

The flyer in her hand seemed to mock her. An idyllic land far away where no one knew the name Nesta Archeron. A fresh start.

For what she could not admit to herself, but what she had just started to understand was: she did not want a fresh start somewhere else. She wanted to stay with Cassian.

When had the switch happened in her mind? When did this pull between them not become so irritating? When had she decided to make her bedroom more comfortable, make her mark more permanent?

She didn't know. The only thing she was certain of was that this current state of limbo, of living in her room in his house while waiting for him to come back from meetings with her sister...this would not do.

Romance was fun in books, but in the real world, practically always won out for Nesta, and so it was abundantly clear to her that two options lay before her: either she would leave or she would stay. And those were her terms.

So all she had to do was work up the nerve to act on her decision.

After she figured out what it was, of course.

* * *

February 12 - 4 years after

When they get to the clinic, they are not immediately rushed into a room, which calms Nesta down. Cassian, on the other hand, only gets more anxious.

"Why aren't they letting us see the healer?" he demands in a whisper, low enough so Ollie, his head on Nesta's shoulder, cannot hear him.

"Trust me, if they think we can wait in line, we're all right."

"But he's coughing!"

"The others might have some graver issue. If they pull you ahead, your situation is dire." Indeed, there had been times when Nesta had brought Ollie in; the healer had taken one look at him and announced that she would need all her appointments cancelled.

"Sit down," she tells him, lowering herself and Ollie into a chair. She presses her lips to the top of his head as she strokes his lower back.

Cassian does, but it must be wildly uncomfortable; these tiny things with no wing-accommodation. She frowns. What will that be like for her children? To live here, where even in a community of different types of faeries, they are clearly other.

"You're really not worried?" he asks her.

"I'm concerned," she says. "But I'm not nervous. I know more or less what she's going to say. His lungs haven't gotten drastically weaker. You see him play and run around. It comes and goes for him. As long as we keep up with what the healer prescribes—which we do—we should be fine."

Cassian is quiet, clearly struggling for words.

"What is it?"

"Sometimes...things don't happen according to plan," he says finally.

She actually laughs a little. "Well, I know _that_."

His lips quirk at her slight laugh. "How did...how did you find out? That you were...pregnant?"

She leans back in her chair, giving Ollie more room to recline on her. Lying on his stomach sometimes helps with his cough. "I fainted, actually. And they—Miri, Zeyn—they brought me to the clinic and Amorette told me."

"She was your healer the whole time?"

"Yes. That's how we met."

"And you..." he hesitated. "She delivered them?"

"She did," she says.

Nesta often recalls that day with wonder. Her whole life she had felt—_everything_. Just so much, all the time. And how insignificantly nothing it all appeared, compared to that cacophony of emotion in those few hours.

"He was sick, then, too," Cassian says softly.

They have never truly discussed this before, but..."Yes. He was born...he was too small. And his lungs were...weak. Not quite underdeveloped, but weak. He wasn't...ready to breathe...yet."

Recollecting that time—collapsing in exhaustion and relief against the bed, and realizing only a few seconds later that something was horribly, horribly wrong—why weren't they giving her the baby? Why could she only hear two cries?—it always tightens Nesta's throat and blurs her vision. She can barely feel Cassian put his arm around her.

"We didn't know what was going to happen, at first," she whispers, half because of where they are, half because of what she's saying. "But he's...he's strong now. This is just...we're at the healer's. He'll be fi—" Nesta's voice catches on the last word and she can't finish it. She forces her mind to go blank. She can't imagine—can't let herself _think—_

"Hey," Cassian's voice cuts in. He squeezes her shoulder. "Stay with me."

_You stay with me_, she wants to say.

But she stays silent, choosing to focus on the feel of his arm. She doesn't trust her voice now, for anything.

* * *

April 15 - 1 year after

Midway through her second trimester, Nesta was more than ready to give birth. The extra weight she was carrying was officially past flattering, she couldn't see her feet unless she was lying down, and everywhere she went, people stopped her and asked her if she was excited.

The latter was the absolute worst, because she still had not decided whether or not she was going to keep the children.

But she had never been good at being put on the spot—her preferred method of dealing with unwanted advances had always been silently staring them down, and since she was trying to get along as an average Sugar Valley resident, when Zeyn asked her if she had gotten around to painting the nursery yet, and if she would like some help...

What else could she say?

So he was there that afternoon, holding two buckets of light blue paint.

"Are you sure there's any difference between these two?" he asked, squinting.

"Sky and powder? Yes." To be fair, she probably wouldn't have registered the difference so clearly had she not grown up with Feyre, ever-obsessed with chronicling the different colors around them.

"Are we doing...stripes?"

"No." Stripes? For babies? "Just those two will be powder," and she punctuates her words by pointing to the wall front and back walls, "and those two will be sky."

"Oh. Why?"

"It's supposed to be lightly stimulating." She had read that in a book Amorette had given her. She was skeptical, but the store she had gone to had given her a good deal on the paints.

"Right. Well. Let's start, then."

Zeyn could be irritating, but his endless, mindless chatter could be comforting, as well. That was how she felt today. And she did appreciate how he kept going to fetch her things—berry juice and an extra cushion to put on her chair. Nesta felt she had not done her part at all, but Zeyn didn't seem to mind.

"Any progress on names?"

"Nothing concrete."

"Ah, well," he said. "My mother says you have to meet a baby before you know for sure if the name is right."

Nesta didn't think she'd be able to "meet a baby"—surely they would just be...the same as the rest of the small children she saw at the clinic or around town. Babies, she felt, all looked the same, and even if they were older and had developed their own features, they weren't very diverse personality-wise.

Not that she didn't like children. She remembered a vague feeling of excitement being told that she was going to have a new baby sister—Feyre, she couldn't remember Elain's birth—and she had liked to play with her, when she was a young girl. But there had not been very many babies for her to interact with during her teenage and adult years.

This was ridiculous. She didn't need to dwell on this so much. She probably wasn't going to keep them, right? That was why it didn't matter that Cassian still had not written back. It wasn't...he didn't need to know, if neither of them wanted anything to do with this. Because he did not want children either, obviously. He was...busy.

"Maybe it'll look different when it dries," Zeyn said, interrupting her thoughts.

"What? Oh, yes...sky's a bit darker."

"Hmm," he said, frowning. "You know...I really don't see it."

Nesta shrugged.

Zeyn clapped his hands together. "Well, as fun as staring at paint dry is..." he grinned at her. "Want to go for dinner? Jamal's?"

And she was certain that Sugar Valley etiquette demanded humoring the person who spent the afternoon doing handiwork at your house, so she said, "Sure."

* * *

February 12 - 4 years after

It is just past noon when Nesta sees Zeyn again, at the shop, coffee and pastry in hand.

"Hey!" he says. "You're all right? Ollie's...?"

"Fine," she says, unable to stop her grin. "The healer gave us a tonic for him to take over the next few weeks. She said that he might need it now and again, but as long as he takes it when he does, she sees no reason to expect significant deterioration. He'll probably be on par with his siblings by the time he turns twelve." Nesta's heart sings as she repeats the healer's words.

Zeyn pulls her in a hug. "Let's tell Miri and Adil. They're in the back."

"Oh, I'm actually not staying long. I just came to let you know we're all right...and give you this," she adds, holding out the food. "Thank you so much. How were Avery and Nicky?"

"Fine," he says. "We had fun."

Nesta rolls her eyes. "Don't tell me."

"I wasn't going to," he teases. "It's a secret."

"You four and your secrets," she says, rolling her eyes again.

He shakes his head, eyes still laughing at her. "Are you taking him back to nursery?"

"No, we're going to let him rest. We think it also might be nice to spend some time with just him, the both of us. We're thinking—" Nesta stops herself. Zeyn does not need to know how she and Cassian plan to spend time with each child individually, he does not need to hear this. "He's just so tired," she finishes.

But the damage is done and the warmth slips out of Zeyn's face. He looks down at the order from Samir's. "Nesta," he says, soft, slow. "Are you really doing this with him?"

She freezes. "Zeyn. He's their father. He has a right to be included in this."

"I'm not talking about that...and I don't agree with you on that matter, either."

Nesta raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"He wasn't there, Nesta," Zeyn says, more desperate than anything else. "He just—you had to do it all without him."

"I can't believe you're starting this right now," she says, more to herself than to him. Louder, she says, "I will not discuss this. He's here now. He's a part of their lives now. He was with me today."

"He's here when it fits his schedule."

"There's nothing wrong with having a job," she defends—defends! As if she doesn't hate that he commands the Night Court armies!

"Yours and his are not comparable," he says. "Do you remember...what it was like? What it felt like?" Zeyn stops, takes a shaky breath, before continuing. "Because I remember seeing you. In pain. Burdened. All alone."

"That's enough," Nesta snaps, crossing her arms. "It's been months, Zeyn. He's a permanent fixture of their lives. You ought to get used to it."

"Oh, I'm used to that," he says, about as close to testy as Zeyn can get. "It's his being a permanent fixture of _your _life I can't get behind."

Nesta tenses. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nesta. Please."

She shifts her weight backwards. If he were anyone else...but he's not. He's Zeyn. Zeyn, who has always been there for her, to the very best of his ability, who left his house at dawn this morning to feed and dress her children.

So she takes a deep breath. "I need to be getting back, Zeyn," she says.

He slumps slightly, but she knows this isn't over. "Give my love to Ollie," he says.

"I will."

"Thanks for the food."

"Don't be silly...thank you. Really."

"Don't thank me."

"Well, I will if I see fit. Thank you."

It works—he gives a short laugh. But it doesn't meet his eyes.

She doesn't have space, though, in her head or heart for that right now. Not Zeyn; not that she doesn't have any room for _him_. But right now...right now she needs to go to Ollie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm sure we're all relieved at Ollie's status. How are you feeling about everything else? I'd love to hear it:)


End file.
